rHa> 


140  '/^/i 


TKRorfta  of  S5.  JX  IRoe 


rOLVME    EIGHTEEN 

HE   FELL   IN    LOVE   WITH    HIS   WIFE 

E.    P.    ROE 
REMINISCENCES  OF  HIS  LIFE 

BY   HIS  SISTER,  MARY  A.  ROE 

ILLUSTRATED 


NEW   YORK 
.    F.    COLLIER    &    SON 
M  c  M  i  i 

18 


COPYRIGHT,  1886, 
BY  DODD,  MEAD,  &  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  LEFT  ALONE 9 

II.  A  VERY  INTERESTED  FRIEND 18 

III.  MRS.    MUMPSON   NEGOTIATES    AND   YIELDS.       .      28 

IV.  DOMESTIC  BLISS      . 38 

V.  MRS.  MUMPSON  TAKES  UP  HER  BURDENS      .     46 

VI.  A  MARRIAGE? 54 

VII.  FROM  HOME  TO  THE  STREET 62 

VIII.  HOLCROFT'S  VIEW  OF  MATRIMONY  ....     67 
IX.  MRS.  MUMPSON  ACCEPTS  HER  MISSION      .     .     75 

X.  A  NIGHT  OF  TERROR 85 

XI.   BAFFLED 92 

XII.  JANE      .    .     .    .    .    .    .    .    ...     .    .     .103 

XIII.  NOT  WIFE,  BUT  WAIF 113 

XIV.  A  PITCHED  BATTLE 120 

XV.  "WHAT  is  TO  BECOME  OF  ME?" 127 

XVI.  MRS.  MUMPSON'S  VICISSITUDES    .....  135 
XVII.  A  MOMENTOUS  DECISION 147 

XVIII.    HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND       .      .      .      ....    156 

XIX.   A  BUSINESS  MARRIAGE 166 

XX.  UNCLE    JONATHAN'S    IMPRESSION    OF    THE 

BRIDE 175 

XXI.   AT  HOME 182 

XXII.  GETTING  ACQUAINTED 190 

(3) 

2061SSO 


4  CONTENTS 

XXIII.  BETWEEN  THE  PAST  AND  FUTURE     .     .     .  200 

XXIV.  GIVEN  HER  OWN  WAY '.     .  212 

XXV.   A  CHARIVARI 223 

XXVI.  "You  DON'T  KNOW" 235 

XXVIL  FARM  AND  FARMER  BEWITCHED     ....  246 

XXVIII.  ANOTHER  WAIF 257 

XXIX.  HUSBAND  AND  WIFE  IN  TROUBLE     .     .     .  269 

XXX.  HOLCROFT'S  BEST  HOPE 280 

XXXI.  "NEVER!" 291 

XXXII.  JANE  PLAYS  MOUSE  TO  THE  LION     .     .     .  301 

XXXIII.    "SHRINK    FROM    YOU  ?"  .    310 


HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE 


HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE 


CHAPTER  I 

LEFT     ALONE 

THE  dreary  March  evening  is  rapidly  passing  from 
murky  gloom  to  obscurity.  Gusts  of  icy  rain  and 
sleet  are  sweeping  full  against  a  man  who,  though 
driving,  bows  his  head  so  low  that  he  cannot  see  his  horses. 
The  patient  beasts,  however,  plod  along  the  miry  road,  unerr- 
ingly taking  their  course  to  the  distant  stable  door.  The 
highway  sometimes  passes  through  a  grove  on  the  edge  of 
a  forest,  and  the  trees  creak  and  groan  as  they  writhe  in  the 
heavy  blasts.  In  occasional  groups  of  pines  there  is  sighing 
and  moaning  almost  human  in  suggestiveness  of  trouble. 
Never  had  Nature  been  in  a  more  dismal  mood,  never  had 
she  been  more  prodigal  of  every  element  of  discomfort,  and 
never  had  the  hero  of  my  story  been  more  cast  down  in  heart 
and  hope  than  on  this  chaotic  day  which,  even  to  his  dull 
fancy,  appeared  closing  in  harmony  with  his  feelings  and  for- 
tune. He  is  going  home,  yet  the  thought  brings  no  assurance 
of  welcome  and  comfort.  As  he  cowers  upon  the  seat  of  his 
market  wagon,  he  is  to  the  reader  what  he  is  in  the  fading 
light — a  mere  dim  outline  of  a  man.  His  progress  is  so  slow 
that  there  will  be  plenty  of  time  to  relate  some  facts  about 
him  which  will  make  the  scenes  and  events  to  follow  more 
intelligible. 

James  Holcroft  is  a  middle-aged  man  and  the  owner 
of  a  small,  hilly  farm.  He  had  inherited  his  rugged  acres 
from  his  father,  had  always  lived  upon  them,  and  the  feeling 

(9) 


10  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

had  grown  strong  with  the  lapse  of  time  that  he  could  live 
nowhere  else.  Yet  he  knew  that  he  was,  in  the  vernacular 
of  the  region,  "going  down  hill."  The  small  savings  of  years 
were  slowing  melting  away,  and  the  depressing  feature  of 
this  truth  was  that  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  help  himself. 
He  was  not  a  sanguine  man,  but  rather  one  endowed  with 
a  hard,  practical  sense  which  made  it  clear  that  the  down-hill 
process  had  only  to  continue  sufficiently  long  to  leave  him 
landless  and  penniless.  It  was  all  so  distinct  on  this  dismal 
evening  that  he  groaned  aloud. 

"If  it  comes  to  that,  I  don't  know  what  I'll  do — crawl 
away  on  a  night  like  this  and  give  up,  like  enough." 

Perhaps  he  was  right.  When  a  man  with  a  nature  like 
his  "gives  up,"  the  end  has  come.  The  low,  sturdy  oaks  that 
grew  so  abundantly  along  the  road  were  types  of  his  char- 
acter— they  could  break,  but  not  bend.  He  had  little  sup- 
pleness, little  power  to  adapt  himself  to  varied  conditions 
of  life.  An  event  had  occurred  a  year  since,  which,  for 
months,  he  could  only  contemplate  with  dull  wonder  and 
dismay.  In  his  youth  he  had  married  the  daughter  of  a 
small  farmer.  Like  himself,  she  had  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  toil  and  frugal  living.  From  childhood  she  had 
been  impressed  with  the  thought  that  parting  with  a  dollar 
was  a  serious  matter,  and  to  save  a  dollar  one  of  the  good 
deeds  rewarded  in  this  life  and  the  life  to  come.  She  and 
her  husband  were  in  complete  harmony  on  this  vital  point. 
Yet  not  a  miserly  trait  entered  into  their  humble  thrift.  It 
was  a  necessity  entailed  by  their  meagre  resources;  it  was 
inspired  by  the  wish  for  an  honest  independence  in  their 
old  age. 

There  was  to  be  no  old  age  for  her.  She  took  a  heavy 
cold,  and  almost  before  her  husband  was  aware  of  her  dan- 
ger, she  had  left  his  side.  He  was  more  than  grief -stricken, 
he  was  appalled.  No  children  had  blessed  their  union,  and 
they  had  become  more  and  more  to  each  other  in  their 
simple  home  life.  To  many  it  would  have  seemed  a  narrow 
and  even  a  sordid  life.  It  could  not  have  been  the  latter, 


LEFT  ALONE  11 

for  all  their  hard  work,  their  petty  economies  and  plans  to 
increase  the  hoard  in  the  savings  bank  were  robbed  of  sor- 
didness  by  an  honest,  quiet  affection  for  each  other,  by 
mutual  sympathy  and  a  common  purpose.  It  undoubtedly 
was  a  meagre  life  which  grew  narrower  with  time  and  habit. 
There  had  never  been  much  romance  to  begin  with,  but 
something  that  often  wears  better — mutual  respect  and  affec- 
tion. From  the  first,  James  Holcroft  had  entertained  the 
sensible  hope  that  she  was  just  the  girl  to  help  him  make 
a  living  from  his  hillside  farm,  and  he  had  not  hoped  for  or 
even  thought  of  very  much  else  except  the  harmony  and 
good  comradeship  which  bless  people  who  are  suited  to  each 
other.  He  had  been  disappointed  in  no  respect;  they  had 
toiled  and  gathered  like  ants ;  they  were  confidential  partners 
in  the  homely  business  and  details  of  the  farm ;  nothing  was 
wasted,  not  even  time.  The  little  farmhouse  abounded  in 
comfort,  and  was  a  model  of  neatness  and  order.  If  it  and 
its  surroundings  were  devoid  of  grace  and  ornament,  they 
were  not  missed,  for  neither  of  its  occupants  had  ever  been 
accustomed  to  such  things.  The  years  which  passed  so  un- 
eventfully only  cemented  the  union  and  increased  the  sense 
of  mutual  dependence.  They  would  have  been  regarded  as 
exceedingly  matter-of-fact  and  undemonstrative,  but  they 
were  kind  to  each  other  and  understood  each  other.  Feel- 
ing that  they  were  slowly  yet  surely  getting  ahead,  they 
looked  forward  to  an  old  age  of  rest,  and  a  sufficiency  for 
their  simple  needs.  Then,  before  he  could  realize  the  truth, 
he  was  left  alone  at  her  wintry  grave;  neighbors  dispersed 
after  the  brief  service,  and  he  plodded  back  to  his  desolate 
home.  There  was  no  relative  to  step  in  and  partially  make 
good  his  loss.  Some  of  the  nearest  residents  sent  a  few 
cooked  provisions  until  he  could  get  help,  but  these  attentions 
soon  ceased.  It  was  believed  that  he  was  abundantly  able  to 
take  care  of  himself,  and  he  was  left  to  do  so.  He  was  not 
exactly  unpopular,  but  had  been  much  too  reticent  and  had 
lived  too  secluded  a  life  to  find,  uninvited,  sympathy  now. 
He  was  the  last  man,  however,  to  ask  for  sympathy  or  help; 


12  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

and  this  was  not  due  to  misanthropy,  but  simply  to  tempera- 
ment and  habits  of  life.  He  and  his  wife  had  been  sufficient 
for  each  other,  and  the  outside  world  was  excluded  chiefly 
because  they  had  no  time  or  taste  for  social  interchanges. 
As  a  result,  he  suffered  serious  disadvantages;  he  was  mis- 
understood and  virtually  left  to  meet  his  calamity  alone. 

But,  indeed,  he  could  scarcely  have  met  it  in  any  other 
way.  Even  to  his  wife,  he  had  never  formed  the  habit  of 
speaking  freely  of  his  thoughts  and  feelings.  There  had 
been  no  need,  so  complete  was  the  understanding  between 
them.  A  hint,  a  sentence,  revealed  to  each  other  their  sim- 
ple and  unlimited  processes  of  thought.  To  talk  about  her 
now  to  strangers  was  impossible.  He  had  no  language  by 
which  to  express  the  heavy,  paralyzing  pain  in  his  heart. 

For  a  time  he  performed  necessary  duties  in  a  dazed, 
mechanical  way.  The  horses  and  live  stock  were  fed  regu- 
larly, the  cows  milked ;  but  the  milk  stood  in  the  dairy  room 
until  it  spoiled.  Then  he  would  sit  down  at  his  desolate 
hearth  and  gaze  for  hours  into  the  fire,  until  it  sunk  down 
and  died  out.  Perhaps  no  class  in  the  world  suffer  from 
such  a  terrible  sense  of  loneliness  as  simple-natured,  country 
people,  to  whom  a  very  few  have  been  all  the  company  they 
required. 

At  last  Holcroft  partially  shook  off  his  stupor,  and  began 
the  experiment  of  keeping  house  and  maintaining  his  dairy 
with  hired  help.  For  a  long  year  he  had  struggled  on 
through  all  kinds  of  domestic  vicissitude,  conscious  all  the 
time  that  things  were  going  from  bad  to  worse.  His  house 
was  isolated,  the  region  sparsely  settled,  and  good  help  dif- 
ficult to  be  obtained  under  favoring  auspices.  The  few  re- 
spectable women  in  the  neighborhood  who  occasionally  "lent 
a  hand "  in  other  homes  than  their  own  would  not  com- 
promise themselves,  as  they  expressed  it,  by  "  keepin'  house 
for  a  widower."  Servants  obtained  from  the  neighboring 
town  either  could  not  endure  the  loneliness,  or  else  were  so 
wasteful  and  ignorant,  that  the  farmer,  in  sheer  desperation, 
discharged  them.  The  silent,  grief-stricken,  rugged-featured 


LEFT   ALONE  13 

man  was  no  company  for  any  one.  The  year  was  but  a  rec- 
ord of  changes,  waste*  and  small  pilf erings.  Although  he 
knew  he  could  not  afford  it,  he  tried  the  device  of  obtaining 
two  women  instead  of  one,  so  that  they  might  have  society 
in  each  other;  but  either  they  would  not  stay  or  else  he 
found  that  he  had  two  thieves  to  deal  with  instead  of  one — 
brazen,  incompetent  creatures  who  knew  more  about  whiskey 
than  milk,  and  who  made  his  home  a  terror  to  him. 

Some  asked,  good-naturedly,  "  Why  don't  you  marry 
again  ?  "  Not  only  was  the  very  thought  repugnant,  but  he 
knew  well  that  he  was  not  the  man  to  thrive  on  any  such 
errand  to  the  neighboring  farmhouses.  Though  apparently 
he  had  little  sentiment  in  his  nature,  yet  the  memory  of  his 
wife  was  like  his  religion.  JEe  felt  that  he  could  not  put  an 
ordinary  woman  into  his  wife's  place,  and  say  to  her  the 
words  he  had  spoken  before.  Such  a  marriage  would  be  to 
him  a  grotesque  farce,  at  which  his  soul  revolted. 

At  last  he  was  driven  to  the  necessity  of  applying  for  help 
to  an  Irish  family  that  had  recently  moved  into  the  neigh- 
borhood. The  promise  was  forbidding,  indeed,  as  he  entered 
the  squalid  abode  in  which  were  huddled  men,  women  and 
children.  A  sister  o?  the  mistress  of  the  shanty  was  voluble 
in  her  assurances  of  unlimited  capability. 

"  Faix  I  kin  do  all  the  wourk,  in  doors  and  out,  so  I  takes 
the  notion,"  she  had  asserted. 

There  certainly  was  no  lack  of  bone  and  muscle  in  the 
big,  red-faced,  middle-aged  woman  who  was  so  ready  to 
preside  at  his  hearth  and  glean  from  his  diminished  dairy  a 
modicum  of  profit ;  but  as  he  trudged  home  along  the  wintry 
road,  he  experienced  strong  feelings  of  disgust  at  the  thought 
of  such  a  creature  sitting  by  the  kitchen  fire  in  the  place  once 
occupied  by  his  wife. 

During  all  these  domestic  vicissitudes  he  had  occupied 
the  parlor,  a  stiff,  formal,  frigid  apartment,  which  had  been 
rarely  used  in  his  married  life.  He  had  no  inclination  for 
the  society  of  his  help;  in  fact,  there  had  been  none  with 
whom  he  could  associate.  The  better  class  of  those  who  went 


14  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

out  to  service  could  find  places  much  more  to  their  taste  than 
the  lonely  farmhouse.  The  kitchen  had  been  the  one  cosey, 
cheerful  room  of  the  house,  and,  driven  from  it,  the  farmer 
was  an  exile  in  his  own  home.  In  the  parlor,  he  could  at 
least  brood  over  the  happy  past,  and  that  was  about  all  the 
solace  he  had  left. 

Bridget  came  and  took  possession  of  her  domain  with  a 
sang  froid  which  appalled  Holcroft  from  the  first.  To  his 
directions  and  suggestions,  she  curtly  informed  him  that  she 
knew  her  business  and  "  didn't  want  no  mon  around,  order- 
in'  and  interferm'." 

In  fact,  she  did  appear,  as  she  had  said,  capable  of  any 
amount  of  work,  and  usually  was  in  a  mood  to  perform  it; 
but  soon  her  male  relatives  began  to  drop  in  to  smoke  a 
pipe  with  her  in  the  evening.  A  little  later  on,  the  supper- 
table  was  left  standing  for  those  who  were  always  ready  to 
"  take  a  bite."  The  farmer  had  never  heard  of  the  camel 
who  first  got  his  head  into  the  tent,  but  it  gradually  dawned 
upon  him  that  he  was  half  supporting  the  whole  Irish  tribe 
down  at  the  shanty.  Every  evening,  while  he  shivered  in 
his  best  room,  he  was  compelled  to  hear  the  coarse  jests  and 
laughter  in  the  adjacent  apartment.  One  night  his  bitter 
thoughts  found  expression :  "  I  might  as  well  open  a  free 
house  for  the  keeping  of  man  and  beast." 

He  had  endured  this  state  of  affairs  for  some  time  simply 
because  the  woman  did  the  essential  work  in  her  off-hand, 
slap-dash  style,  and  left  him  unmolested  to  his  brooding  as 
long  as  he  did  not  interfere  with  her  ideas  of  domestic 
economy.  But  his  impatience  and  the  sense  of  being 
wronged  were  producing  a  feeling  akin  to  desperation. 
Every  week  there  was  less  and  less  to  sell  from  the  dairy; 
chickens  and  eggs  disappeared,  and  the  appetites  of  those 
who  dropped  in  to  "  kape  Bridgy  from  bein'  a  bit  lonely  " 
grew  more  voracious. 

Thus  matters  had  drifted  on  until  this  March  day  when 
he  had  taken  two  calves  to  market.  He  had  said  to  the 
kitchen  potentate  that  he  would  take  supper  with  a  friend  in 


LEFT  ALONE  15 

town  and  therefore  would  not  be  back  before  nine  in  the 
evening.  This  friend  was  the  official  keeper  of  the  poor- 
house  and  had  been  a  crony  of  Holcroft's  in  early  life.  He 
had  taken  to  politics  instead  of  farming,  and  now  had  at- 
tained to  what  he  and  his  acquaintances  spoke  of  as  a  "  snug 
berth."  Holcroft  had  maintained  with  this  man  a  friend- 
ship based  partly  on  business  relations,  and  the  well-to-do 
purveyor  for  paupers  always  gave  his  old  playmate  an  hon- 
est, welcome  to  his  private  supper  table,  which  differed 
somewhat  from  that  spread  for  the  town's  pensioners. 

On  this  occasion  the  gathering  storm  had  decided  Hol- 
croft to  return  without  availing  himself  of  his  friend's  hos- 
pitality, and  he  is  at  last  entering  the  lane  leading  from  the 
highway  to  his  dooryard.  Even  as  he  approaches  his  dwell- 
ing he  hears  the  sound  of  revelry  and  readily  guesses  what 
is  taking  place. 

Quiet,  patient  men,  when  goaded  beyond  a  certain  point, 
are  capable  of  terrible  ebullitions  of  anger,  and  Holcroft 
was  no  exception.  It  seemed  to  him  that  night  that  the 
God  he  had  worshipped  all  his  life  was  in  league  with  man 
against  him.  The  blood  rushed  to  his  face,  his  chilled  form 
became  rigid  with  a  sudden,  passionate  protest  against  his 
misfortunes  and  wrongs.  Springing  from  the  wagon,  he 
left  his  team  standing  at  the  barn  door  and  rushed  to  the 
kitchen  window.  There  before  him  sat  the  whole  tribe  from 
the  shanty,  feasting  at  his  expense.  The  table  was  loaded 
with  coarse  profusion.  Roast  fowls  alternated  with  fried 
ham  and  eggs,  a  great  pitcher  of  milk  was  flanked  by  one 
of  foaming  cider,  while  the  post  of  honor  was  occupied  by 
the  one  contribution  of  his  self-invited  guests — a  villanous 
looking  jug. 

They  had  just  sat  down  to  the  repast  when  the  weazen- 
faced  patriarch  of  the  tribe  remarked,  by  way  of  grace,  it 
may  be  supposed,  "  Be  jabers,  but  isn't  ould  Holcroft  givin' 
us  a  f oine  spread  the  noight !  Here's  bad  luck  to  the  glow- 
erin'  ould  skin-flint,"  and  he  poured  out  a  bumper  from  the 
jug. 


16  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

The  farmer  waited  to  see  and  hear  no  more.  Hastening 
to  a  parlor  window,  he  raised  it  quietly  and  clambered  in: 
then  taking  his  rusty  shot  gun,  which  he  kept  loaded  for  the 
benefit  of  the  vermin  that  prowled  about  his  hen-roost,  he 
burst  in  upon  the  startled  group. 

"  Be  off !"  he  shouted.  "  If  you  value  your  lives,  get  out 
of  that  door,  and  never  show  your  faces  on  my  place  again. 
I'll  not  be  eaten  out  of  house  and  home  by  a  lot  of  jackals." 

His  weapon,  his  dark,  gleaming  eyes  and  desperate  as- 
pect, taught  the  men  that  he  was  not  to  be  trifled  with  a 
moment,  and  they  slunk  away. 

Bridget  began  to  whine.  "  Yez  wouldn't  turn  a  woman 
out  in  the  noight  and  storm — " 

"  You  are  not  a  woman !"  thundered  Holcroft,  "  you  are 
a  jackal  too!  Get  your  traps  and  begone!  I  warn  the 
whole  lot  of  you  to  beware !  I  give  you  this  chance  to  get 
off  the  premises,  and  then  I  shall  watch  for  you  all,  old  and 
young !" 

There  was  something  terrible  and  flame-like  in  his  anger, 
dismaying  the  cormorants,  and  they  hastened  away  with  such 
alacrity  that  Bridget  went  down  the  lane  screaming,  "  Sthop, 
I  tell  yees,  and  be  afther  waitin'  for  me." 

Holcroft  hurled  the  jug  after  them  with  words  that 
sounded  like  an  imprecation.  He  next  turned  to  the  viands 
on  the  table  with  an  expression  of  loathing,  gathered  them 
up  and  carried  them  to  the  hog-pen.  He  seemed  possessed 
by  a  feverish  impatience  to  banish  every  vestige  of  those 
whom  he  had  driven  forth,  and  to  restore  the  apartment 
as  nearly  as  possible  to  the  aspect  it  had  worn  in  former 
happy  years.  At  last,  he  sat  down  where  his  wife  had  been 
accustomed  to  sit,  unbuttoned  his  waist-coat  and  flannel  shirt 
and  from  against  his  naked  breast  took  an  old,  worn  da- 
guerreotype. He  looked  a  moment  at  the  plain,  good  face 
reflected  there,  then,  bowing  his  head  upon  it,  strong,  con- 
vulsive sobs  shook  his  frame,  though  not  a  tear  moistened 
his  eyes. 

How  long  the  paroxysm  would  have  lasted  it  were  hard 


LEFT  ALONE  17 

to  say,  had  not  the  impatient  whinnying  of  his  horses,  still 
exposed  to  the  storm,  caught  his  attention.  The  life-long 
habit  of  caring  for  the  dumb  animals  in  his  charge  asserted 
itself.  He  went  out  mechanically,  unharnessed  and  stabled 
them  as  carefully  as  ever  before  in  his  life,  then  returned 
and  wearily  prepared  himself  a  pot  of  coffee,  which,  with  a 
crust  of  bread,  was  all  the  supper  he  appeared  to  crave. 


18  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER    H 

A  VERY    INTERESTED   FRIEND 

FOR  the  next  few  days,  Holcroft  lived  alone.  The 
weather  remained  inclement  and  there  was  no  occa- 
sion for  him  to  go  farther  away  than  the  barn  and 
out-buildings.  He  felt  that  a  crisis  in  his  life  was  approach- 
ing, that  he  would  probably  be  compelled  to  sell  his  property 
for  what  it  would  bring,  and  begin  life  again  under  different 
auspices. 

"  I  must  either  sell  or  marry,"  he  groaned,  "  and  one's 
about  as  hard  and  bad  as  the  other.  Who'll  buy  the  place 
and  stock  at  half  what  they're  worth,  and  where  could  I 
find  a  woman  that  would  look  at  an  old  fellow  like  me,  even 
if  I  could  bring  myself  to  look  at  her?" 

The  poor  man  did  indeed  feel  that  he  was  shut  up  to 
dreadful  alternatives.  With  his  ignorance  of  the  world,  and 
dislike  for  contact  with  strangers,  selling  out  and  going  away 
was  virtually  starting  out  on  an  unknown  sea  without  rudder 
or  compass.  It  was  worse  than  that — it  was  the  tearing 
up  of  a  life  that  had  rooted  itself  in  the  soil  whereon  he 
had  been  content  from  childhood  to  middle  age.  He  would 
suffer  more  in  going,  and  in  the  memory  of  what  he  had 
parted  with,  than  in  any  of  the  vicissitudes  which  might 
overtake  him.  He  had  not  much  range  of  imagination  or 
feeling,  but  within  his  limitations  his  emotions  were  strong 
and  his  convictions  unwavering.  Still,  he  thought  it  might 
be  possible  to  live  in  some  vague,  unknown  place,  doing 
some  kind  of  work  for  people  with  whom  he  need  not  have 
very  much  to  do.  "  I've  always  been  my  own  master,  and 
done  things  in  my  own  way,"  he  muttered,  "  but  I  suppose 


A    VERY  INTERESTED    FRIEND  19 

I  could  farm  it  to  suit  some  old,  quiet  people,  if  I  could 
only  find  'em.  One  thing  is  certain,  anyhow — I  couldn't 
stay  here  in  Oakville,  and  see  another  man  living  in  these 
rooms,  and  plowing  my  fields,  and  driving  his  cows  to  my 
old  pasture  lots.  That  would  finish  me  like  a  galloping 
consumption." 

Every  day  he  shrunk  with  a  strange  dread  from  the 
wrench  of  parting  with  the  familiar  place  and  with  all  that 
he  associated  with  his  wife.  This  was  really  the  ordeal  which 
shook  his  soul,  and  not  the  fear  that  he  would  be  unable  to 
earn  his  bread  elsewhere.  The  unstable  multitude  who  are 
forever  fancying  that  they  would  be  better  off  somewhere 
else  or  at  something  else  can  have  no  comprehension  of 
this  deep-rooted  love  of  locality  and  the  binding  power 
of  long  association.  They  regard  such  men  as  Holcroft  as 
little  better  than  plodding  oxen.  The  highest  tribute  which 
some  people  can  pay  to  a  man,  however,  is  to  show  that 
they  do  not  and  can  not  understand  him.  But  the  farmer 
was  quite  indifferent  whether  he  was  understood  or  not. 
He  gave  no  thought  to  what  people  said  or  might  say. 
What  were  people  to  him  ?  He  only  had  a  hunted,  pathetic 
sense  of  being  hedged  in  and  driven  to  bay.  Even  to  his 
neighbors,  there  was  more  of  the  humorous  than  the  tragic 
in  his  plight.  It  was  supposed  that  he  had  a  goodly  sum 
in  the  bank,  and  gossips  said  that  he  and  his  wife  thought 
more  of  increasing  this  hoard  than  of  each  other,  and  that 
old  Holcroft's  mourning  was  chiefly  for  a  business  partner. 
His  domestic  tribulations  evoked  mirth  rather  than  sym- 
pathy; and  as  the  news  spread  from  farmhouse  to  cottage, 
of  his  summary  bundling  of  Bridget  and  her  satellites  out 
of  doors,  there  were  both  hilarity  and  satisfaction. 

While  there  was  little  commiseration  for  the  farmer, 
there  was  decided  disapprobation  of  the  dishonest  Irish  tribe, 
and  all  were  glad  that  the  gang  had  received  a  lesson  which 
might  restrain  them  from  preying  upon  others. 

Holcroft  was  partly  to  blame  for  his  present  isolation. 
Eemote  rural  populations  are  given  to  strong  prejudices, 


20  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

especially  against  those  who  are  thought  to  be  well-off  from 
an  over-saving  spirit,  and  who,  worse  still,  are  unsocial  Al- 
most any  thing  will  be  forgiven  sooner  than  "  thinking  one's 
self  better  than  other  folks ;"  and  that  is  the  usual  interpre- 
tation of  shy,  reticent  people.  But  there  had  been  a  decided 
tinge  of  selfishness  in  the  Holcrofts'  habit  of  seclusion;  for 
it  became  a  habit  rather  than  a  principle.  While  they  cher- 
ished no  active  dislike  to  their  neighbors,  or  sense  of  supe- 
riority, these  were  not  wholly  astray  in  believing  that  they 
had  little  place  in  the  thoughts  or  interests  of  the  occupants 
of  the  hill  farm.  Indifference  begat  indifference,  and  now 
the  lonely,  helpless  man  had  neither  the  power  nor  the  dis- 
position to  bridge  the  chasm  which  separated  him  from  those 
who  might  have  given  him  kindly  and  intelligent  aid.  He 
was  making  a  pathetic  effort  to  keep  his  home  and  to  prevent 
his  heart  from  being  torn  bleeding  away  from  all  it  loved. 
His  neighbors  thought  that  he  was  merely  exerting  himself 
to  keep  the  dollars  which  it  had  been  the  supreme  motive 
of  his  life  to  accumulate. 

Giving  no  thought  to  the  opinions  of  others,  Holcroft 
only  knew  that  he  was  in  sore  straits — that  all  which  made 
his  existence  a  blessing  was  at  stake. 

At  times,  during  these  lonely  and  stormy  March  days, 
he  would  dismiss  his  anxious  speculations  in  regard  to  his 
future  course.  He  was  so  morbid,  especially  at  night,  that 
he  felt  that  his  wife  could  revisit  the  quiet  house.  He  cher- 
ished the  hope  that  she  could  see  him  and  hear  what  he  said, 
and  he  spoke  in  her  viewless  presence  with  a  freedom  and 
fulness  that  was  unlike  his  old  reticence  and  habit  of  repres- 
sion. He  wondered  that  he  had  not  said  more  endearing 
words  and  given  her  stronger  assurance  of  how  much  she 
was  to  him.  Late  at  night,  he  would  start  out  of  a  long 
revery,  take  a  candle,  and,  going  through  the  house,  would 
touch  what  she  had  touched,  and  look  long  and  fixedly  at 
things  associated  with  her.  Her  gowns  still  hung  in  the 
closet,  just  as  she  had  left  them;  he  would  take  them  out 
and  recall  the  well-remembered  scenes  and  occasions  when 


A    VERY    INTERESTED    FRIEND  21 

they  were  worn.  At  such  times,  she  almost  seemed  beside 
him,  and  he  had  a  consciousness  of  companionship  which 
soothed  his  perturbed  spirit.  He  felt  that  she  appreciated 
such  loving  remembrance  although  unable  to  express  her 
approval.  He  did  not  know  it,  but  his  nature  was  being 
softened,  deepened  and  enriched  by  these  deep  and  un- 
wonted experiences  ;  the  hard  materiality  of  his  life  was 
passing  away,  rendering  him  capable  of  something  better 
than  he  had  ever  known. 

In  the  morning,  all  the  old  prosaic  problems  of  his  life 
would  return,  with  their  hard,  practical  insistence,  and  he 
knew  that  he  must  decide  upon  something  very  soon.  His 
lonely  vigils  and  days  of  quiet  had  brought  him  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  could  not  hunt  up  a  wife  as  a  matter  of 
business.  He  would  rather  face  the  "  ever  angry  bears " 
than  breathe  the  subject  of  matrimony  to  any  woman  that 
he  could  ever  imagine  himself  marrying.  He  was  therefore 
steadily  drifting  toward  the  necessity  of  selling  everything 
and  going  away.  This  event,  however,  was  like  a  coral-reef 
to  a  sailor,  with  no  land  in  view  beyond  it.  The  only  thing 
which  seemed  certain  was  the  general  breaking  up  of  all 
that  had  hitherto  made  his  life. 

The  offer  of  help  came  from  an  unexpected  source.  One 
morning,  Holcroft  received  a  call  from  a  neighbor  who  had 
never  before  shown  any  interest  in  his  affairs.  On  this  occa- 
sion, however,  Mr.  Weeks  began  to  display  so  much  solici- 
tude that  the  farmer  was  not  only  surprised,  but  also  a  little 
distrustful.  Nothing  in  his  previous  knowledge  of  the  man 
had  prepared  the  way  for  such  very  kindly  intervention. 

After  some  general  references  to  the  past,  Mr.  Weeks 
continued,  "  I've  been  saying  to  our  folks  that  it  was  too  bad 
to  let  you  worry  on  alone  without  more  neighborly  help. 
You  ought  either  to  get  married  or  have  some  thoroughly 
respectable  and  well-known  middle-aged  woman  keep  house 
for  you.  That  would  stop  all  talk,  and  there's  been  a  heap 
of  it,  I  can  tell  you.  Of  course,  I  and  my  folks  don't  believe 
anything's  been  wrong." 


22  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"  Believing  that  something  was  wrong,  is  about  all  the 
attention  my  neighbors  have  given  me,  as  far  as  I  can  see," 
Holcroft  remarked,  bitterly. 

"  "Well,  you  see,  Holcroft,  you've  kept  yourself  so  inside 
your  shell  that  people  don't  know  what  to  believe.  Now, 
the  thing  to  do  is  to  change  all  that.  I  know  how  hard  it  is 
for  a  man,  placed  as  you  be,  to  get  decent  help.  My  wife 
was  a  wondering  about  it  the  other  day,  and  I  shut  her  up 
mighty  sudden  by  saying,  '  You're  a  good  manager,  and  know 
all  the  country  side,  yet  how  often  you're  a  complaining  that 
you  can't  get  a  girl  that's  worth  her  salt  to  help  in  haying 
and  other  busy  times  when  we  have  to  board  a  lot  of  men.' 
Well,  I  won't  beat  around  the  bush  any  more.  I've  come 
to  act  the  part  of  a  good  neighbor.  There's  no  use  of  you're 
trying  to  get  along  with  such  hap-hazard  help  as  you  can 
pick  up  here  and  in  town.  You  want  a  respectable  woman 
for  housekeeper,  and  then  have  a  cheap,  common  sort  of 
girl  to  work  under  her.  Now,  I  know  of  just  such  a  woman, 
and  it's  not  unlikely  she'd  be  persuaded  to  take  entire  charge 
of  your  house  and  dairy.  My  wife's  cousin,  Mrs  Mumpson  " 
— at  the  mention  of  this  name,  Holcroft  gave  a  slight  start, 
feeling  something  like  a  cold  chill  run  down  his  back. 

Mr.  Weeks  was  a  little  disconcerted,  but  resumed,  "  I 
believe  she  called  on  your  wife  once?" 

"  Yes,"  the  farmer  replied,  laconically.  "  I  was  away  and 
did  not  see  her." 

"  Well,  now,"  pursued  Mr.  Weeks,  "  she's  a  good  soul. 
She  has  her  little  peculiarities;  so  have  you  and  me,  a  lot 
of  'em;  but  she's  thoroughly  respectable,  and  there  isn't  a 
man  or  woman  in  the  town  that  would  think  of  saying  a  word 
against  her.  She  has  only  one  child,  a  nice,  quiet  little  girl 
who'd  be  company  for  her  mother  and  make  everything  look 
right,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  see  what  there's  been  to  look  wrong,"  growled 
the  farmer. 

"  Nothing  to  me  and  my  folks,  of  course,  or  I  wouldn't 
suggest  the  idea  of  a  relation  of  my  wife  coming  to  live  with 


A    VERY   INTERESTED    FRIEND  23 

you.  But  you  see  people  will  talk  unless  you  stop  their 
mouths  so  they'll  feel  like  fools  in  doing  it.  I  know  yours 
has  been  a  mighty  awkward  case,  and  here's  a  plain  way  out 
of  it.  You  can  set  yourself  right  and  have  everything  looked 
after  as  it  ought  to  be,  in  twenty-four  hours.  We've  talked 
to  Cynthy — that's  Mrs.  Mumpson — and  she  takes  a  sight 
of  interest.  She'd  do  well  by  you  and  straighten  things  out, 
and  you  might  do  a  plaguy  sight  worse  than  give  her  the 
right  to  take  care  of  your  indoor  affairs  for  life." 

"  I  don't  expect  to  marry  again,"  said  Holcroft,  curtly. 

"  Oh,  well,  many  a  man  and  woman  has  said  that  and 
believed  it,  too,  at  the  time.  I'm  not  saying  that  my  wife's 
cousin  is  inclined  that  way  herself.  Like  enough,  she  isn't 
at  all,  but  then,  the  right  kind  of  persuading  does  change 
women's  minds  sometimes,  eh?  Mrs.  Mumpson  is  kinder 
alone  in  the  world,  like  yourself,  and  if  she  was  sure  of  a 
good  home  and  a  kind  husband  there's  no  telling  what  good 
luck  might  happen  to  you.  But  there'll  be  plenty  of  time 
for  considering  all  that  on  both  sides.  You  can't  live  like  a 
hermit — " 

"  I  was  thinking  of  selling  out  and  leaving  these  parts," 
Holcroft  interrupted. 

"  Now  look  here,  neighbor,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
in  these  times  you  couldn't  give  away  the  place.  What's 
the  use  of  such  foolishness  ?  The  thing  to  do  is  to  keep  the 
farm  and  get  a  good  living  out  of  it.  You've  got  down  in 
the  dumps  and  can't  see  what's  sensible  and  to  your  own 
advantage." 

Holcroft  was  thinking  deeply,  and  he  turned  his  eyes 
wistfully  to  the  upland  slopes  of  his  farm.  Mr.  Weeks  had 
talked  plausibly,  and  if  all  had  been  as  he  represented,  the 
plan  would  not  have  been  a  bad  one.  But  the  widower  did 
not  yearn  for  the  widow.  He  did  not  know  much  about  her, 
but  had  very  unfavorable  impressions.  Mrs.  Holcroft  had 
not  been  given  to  speaking  ill  of  any  one,  but  she  had  al- 
ways shaken  her  head  with  a  peculiar  significance  when  Mrs. 
Mumpson's  name  was  mentioned.  The  widow  had  felt  it 


24  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

her  duty  to  call  and  counsel  against  the  sin  of  seclusion  and 
being  too  much  absorbed  in  the  affairs  of  this  world. 

"  You  should  take  an  interest  in  every  one,"  this  self- 
appointed  evangelist  had  declared,  and  in  one  sense  she  lived 
up  to  her  creed.  She  permitted  no  scrap  of  information 
about  people  to  escape  her,  and  was  not  only  versed  in  all 
the  gossip  of  Oakville,  but  also  of  several  other  localities  in 
which  she  visited. 

But  Holcroft  had  little  else  to  deter  him  from  employing 
her  services  beyond  an  unfavorable  impression.  She  could 
not  be  so  bad  as  Bridget  Malony,  and  he  was  almost  willing 
to  employ  her  again  for  the  privilege  of  remaining  on  his 
paternal  acres.  As  to  marrying  the  widow — a  slight  shud- 
der passed  through  his  frame  at  the  thought. 

Slowly  he  began,  as  if  almost  thinking  aloud,  "  I  suppose 
you  are  right,  Lemuel  Weeks,  in  what  you  say  about  selling 
the  place.  The  Lord  knows  I  don't  want  to  leave  it.  I  was 
born  and  brought  up  here,  and  that  counts  with  some  people,. 
If  your  wife's  cousin  is  willing  to  come  and  help  me  make  a 
living,  for  such  wages  as  I  can  pay,  the  arrangement  might  be 
made.  But  I  want  to  look  on  it  as  a  business  arrangement. 
I  have  quiet  ways  of  my  own,  and  things  belonging  to  the 
past  to  think  about,  and  I've  got  a  right  to  think  about  'em. 
I  ain't  one  of  the  marrying  kind,  and  I  don't  want  people  to 
be  a-considering  such  notions  when  I  don't.  I'd  be  kind 
and  all  that  to  her  and  her  little  girl,  but  I  should  want  to 
be  left  to  myself  as  far  as  I  could  be." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Weeks,  mentally  chuckling 
over  the  slight  prospect  of  such  immunity,  "  but  you  must 
remember  that  Mrs.  Mumpson  isn't  like  common  help — " 

"  That's  where  the  trouble  will  come  in,"  ejaculated  the 
perplexed  farmer,  "  but  there's  been  trouble  enough  with 
the  other  sort." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  Mr.  Weeks  remarked,  emphatically. 
"  It  would  be  a  pity  if  you  couldn't  get  along  with  such  a 
respectable,  conscientious  woman  as  Mrs.  Mumpson,  who 
comes  from  one  of  the  best  families  in  the  country." 


A    VERY   INTERESTED   FRIEND  25 

Holcroft  removed  his  hat  and  passed  his  hand  over  his 
brow  wearily  as  he  said,  "  Oh,  I  could  get  along  with  any- 
one who  would  do  the  work  in  a  way  that  would  give  me  a 
chance  to  make  a  little,  and  then  leave  me  to  myself." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Weeks,  laughing,  "  you  needn't 
think  that  because  I've  hinted  at  a  good  match  for  you  I'm 
making  one  for  my  wife's  cousin.  You  may  see  the  day 
when  you'll  be  more  hot  for  it  than  she  is.  All  I'm  trying 
to  do  is  to  help  you  keep  your  place,  and  live  like  a  man 
ought  and  stop  people's  mouths."  4 

"  If  I  could  only  fill  my  own  and  live  in  peace,  it's  all  I 
ask.  When  I  get  to  plowing  and  planting  again  I'll  begin 
to  take  some  comfort." 

These  words  were  quoted  against  Holcroft  far  and  near. 
"  Filling  his  own  mouth  and  making  a  little  money  are  all 
he  cares  for,"  was  the  general  verdict.  And  thus  people  are 
misunderstood.  The  farmer  had  never  turned  any  one  hun- 
gry from  his  door,  and  he  would  have  gone  to  the  poorhouse 
rather  than  have  acted  the  part  of  the  man  who  misrepre- 
sented him.  He  had  only  meant  to  express  the  hope  that 
he  might  be  able  to  fill  his  mouth — earn  his  bread,  and  get 
it  from  his  native  soil.  "  Plowing  and  planting  " — work- 
ing where  he  had  toiled  since  a  child,  would  be  a  solace  in 
itself,  and  not  a  grudged  means  to  a  sordid  end. 

Mr.  Weeks  was  a  thrifty  man  also,  and  in  nothing  was  he 
more  economical  than  in  charitable  views  of  his  neighbors' 
motives  and  conduct.  He  drove  homeward  with  the  com- 
placent feeling  that  he  had  done  a  shrewd,  good  thing  for 
himself  and  "  his  folks  "  at  least.  His  wife's  cousin  was  not 
exactly  embraced  in  the  latter  category,  although  he  had  been 
so  active  in  her  behalf.  The  fact  was,  he  would  be  at  much 
greater  pains  could  he  attach  her  to  Holcroft  or  any  one  else 
and  so  prevent  further  periodical  visits.  He  regarded  her 
and  her  child  as  barnacles  with  such  appalling  adhesive  pow- 
ers that  even  his  ingenuity  at  "  crowding  out "  had  been 
baffled.  In  justice  to  him,  it  must  be  admitted  that  Mrs. 
Mumpson  was  a  type  of  the  poor  relation  that  would  tax  the 

R_B—  xvin 


26  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

long-suffering  of  charity  itself.  Her  husband  had  left  her 
scarcely  his  blessing,  and  if  he  had  fled  to  ills  he  knew  not  of, 
he  believed  that  he  was  escaping  from  some  of  which  he  had 
a  painfully  distinct  consciousness.  His  widow  was  one  of 
the  people  who  regard  the  "  world  as  their  oyster,"  and  her 
scheme  of  life  was  to  get  as  much  as  possible  for  nothing. 
Arrayed  in  mourning  weeds,  she  had  begun  a  system  of 
periodical  descents  upon  his  relatives  and  her  own.  She 
might  have  made  such  visitations  endurable  and  even  wel- 
come, but  she  was  not  shrewd  enough  to  be  sensible.  She 
appeared  to  have  developed  only  the  capacity  to  talk,  to 
pry  and  to  worry  people.  She  was  unable  to  rest  or  to 
permit  others  to  rest,  yet  her  aversion  to  any  useful  form  of 
activity  was  her  chief  characteristic.  Wherever  she  went, 
she  took  the  ground  that  she  was  "  company,"  and,  with  a 
shawl  hanging  over  her  sharp,  angular  shoulders,  she  would 
seize  upon  the  most  comfortable  rocking-chair  in  the  house, 
and  mouse  for  bits  of  news  about  every  one  of  whom  she 
had  ever  heard.  She  was  quite  as  ready  to  tell  all  she  knew 
also,  and  for  the  sake  of  her  budget  of  gossip  and  small  scan- 
dal, her  female  relatives  tolerated  her  after  a  fashion  for  a 
time;  but  she  had  been  around  so  often,  and  her  scheme 
of  obtaining  subsistence  for  herself  and  child  had  become 
so  offensively  apparent,  that  she  had  about  exhausted  the 
patience  of  all  the  kith  and  kin  on  whom  she  had  the  remot- 
est claim.  Her  presence  was  all  the  more  unwelcome  by 
reason  of  the  faculty  for  irritating  the  men  of  the  various 
households  which  she  invaded.  Even  the  most  phlegmatic 
or  the  best-natured  lost  their  self-control,  and,  as  their  wives 
declared,  "  felt  like  flying  all  to  pieces "  at  her  incessant 
rocking,  gossiping,  questioning,  and,  what  was  worse  still, 
lecturing.  Not  the  least  endurable  thing  about  Mrs.  Mump- 
son  was  her  peculiar  phase  of  piety.  IShe  saw  the  delinquen- 
cies and  duties  of  others  with  such  painful  distinctness  that 
she  felt  compelled  to  speak  of  them;  and  her  zeal  was  sure 
to  be  instant  out  of  season. 

"When  Mr.  Weeks  had  started  on  his  ominous  mission  to 


A    VERY  INTERESTED   FRIEND  27 

Holcroft  his  wife  remarked  to  her  daughter,  confidentially, 
"  I  declare,  sis,  if  we  don't  get  rid  of  Cynthy  soon,  I  believe 
Lemuel  will  fly  off  the  handle." 

To  avoid  any  such  dire  catastrophe,  it  was  hoped  and 
almost  prayed  in  the  Weeks  household  that  the  lonely  occu- 
pant of  the  hill  farm  would  take  the  widow  for  good  and  all. 


28  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 


M' 


CHAPTER  in 

MRS.    MUMPSON   NEGOTIATES  AND   YIELDS 

R.  WEEKS,  on  his  return  home,  dropped  all  diplom- 
acy in  dealing  with  the  question  at  issue.  "Cynthy," 
he  said  in  his  own  vernacular,  "the  end  has  come  so 
far  as  me  and  my  folks  are  concerned — I  never  expect  to  visit 
you,  and  while  I'm  master  of  the  house,  no  more  visits  will 
be  received.  But  I  hain't  taken  any  such  stand  onconsider- 
ately,"  he  concluded.  "I've  given  up  the  whole  forenoon  to 
secure  you  a  better  chance  of  living  than  visiting  around. 
If  you  go  to  Holcroft's,  you'll  have  to  do  some  work,  and  so 
will  your  girl.  But  he'll  hire  some  one  to  help  you,  and  so 
you  won't  have  to  hurt  yourself.  Your  trump  card  will  be 
to  hook  him  and  marry  him  before  he  finds  you  out.  To 
do  this,  you'll  have  to  see  to  the  house  and  dairy,  and  bestir 
yourself  for  a  time  at  least.  He's  pretty  desperate  off  for 
lack  of  woman-folks  to  look  after  indoor^  matters,  but  he'll 
sell  out  and  clear  out  before  he'll  keep  a  woman,  much  less 
marry  her,  if  she  does  nothing  but  talk.  Now  remember, 
you've  got  a  chance  which  you  won't  get  again,  for  Holcroft 
not  only  owns  his  farm,  but  has  a  snug  sum  in  the  bank.  So 
you  had  better  get  your  things  together,  and  go  right  over 
while  he's  in  the  mood." 

When  Mrs.  Mump^on  reached  the  blank  wall  of  the  inevi- 
table, she  yielded,  and  not  before.  She  saw  that  the  Weeks 
mine  was  worked  out  completely,  and  she  knew  that  this 
exhaustion  was  about  equally  true  of  all  similar  mines  which 
had  been  bored  until  they  would  yield  no  further  returns. 

But  Mr.  Weeks  soon  found  that  he  could  not  carry  out 
his  summary  measures.  The  widow  was  bent  on  negotia- 


MRS.  MUMPSON  NEGOTIATES  AND   YIELDS  29 

tions  and  binding  agreements.  In  a  stiff,  cramped  hand,  she 
wrote  to  Holcroft  in  regard  to  the  amount  of  "  salary  "  he 
would  be  willing  to  pay,  intimating  that  one  burdened  with 
such  responsibilities  as  she  was  expected  to  assume  "  ort  to 
be  compansiated  proposhundly." 

Weeks  groaned  as  he  despatched  his  son  on  horseback 
with  this  first  epistle,  and  Holcroft  groaned  as  he  read  it, 
not  on  account  of  its  marvellous  spelling  and  construction, 
but  by  reason  of  the  vista  of  perplexities  and  trouble  it- 
opened  to  his  boding  mind.  But  he  named  on  half  a  sheet 
of  paper  as  large  a  sum  as  he  felt  it  possible  to  pay  and 
leave  any  chance  for  himself,  then  affixed  his  signature  and 
sent  it  back  by  the  messenger. 

The  widow  Mumpson  wished  to  talk  over  this  first  point 
between  the  high  contracting  powers  indefinitely,  but  Mr. 
Weeks  remarked,  cynically,  "  It's  double  what  I  thought  he'd 
offer,  and  you're  lucky  to  have  it  in  black  and  white.  Now 
that  everything's  settled,  Timothy  will  hitch  up  and  take 
you  and  Jane  up  there  at  once." 

But  Mrs.  Mumpson  now  began  to  insist  upon  writing 
another  letter  in  regard  to  her  domestic  status  and  that  of 
her  child.  They  could  not  think  of  being  looked  upon  as 
servants.  She  also  wished  to  be  assured  that  a  girl  would 
be  hired  to  help  her,  that  she  should  have  all  the  church 
privileges  to  which  she  had  been  accustomed  and  the  right 
to  visit  and  entertain  her  friends,  which  meant  every  farmer's 
wife  and  all  the  maiden  sisters  in  Oakville.  "  And  then," 
she  continued,  "  there  are  always  little  perquisites  which 
a  housekeeper  has  a  right  to  look  for — "  Mr.  Weeks  irri- 
tably put  a  period  to  this  phase  of  diplomacy  by  saying, 
"  Well,  well,  Cynthy,  the  stage  will  be  along  in  a  couple  of 
hours.  We'll  put  you  and  your  things  aboard  and  you  can 
go  on  with  what  you  call  your  negotiations  at  cousin  Abi- 
ram's.  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,  though — if  you  write  any 
such  letter  to  Holcroft,  you'll  never  hear  from  him  again." 

Compelled  to  give  up  all  these  preliminaries,  but  inwardly 
resolving  to  gain  each  point  by  a  nagging  persistence  of 


80  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

which  she  was  a  mistress,  she  finally  declared  that  she  "  must 
have  writings  about  one  thing  which  couldn't  be  left  to  any 
man's  changeful  mind.  He  must  agree  to  give  me  the 
monthly  salary  he  names  for  at  least  a  year." 

Weeks  thought  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  shrewd  twin- 
kle in  his  eyes,  admitted,  "  It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  have 
Holcroft's  name  to  such  an  agreement.  Yes,  you  might  try 
that  on,  but  you're  taking  a  risk.  If  you  were  not  so  penny 
wise  and  pound  foolish  you'd  go  at  once  and  manage  to  get 
him  to  take  you  for  '  better  or  worse.' ' 

"  You  misjudge  me,  cousin  Lemuel,"  replied  the  widow, 
bridling  and  rocking  violently.  "  If  there's  any  such  taking 
to  be  done,  he  must  get  me  to  take  him." 

"  Well,  well,  write  your  letter  about  a  year's  engagement. 
That'll  settle  you  for  a  twelvemonth,  at  least." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  again  began  the  slow,  laborious  construc- 
tion of  a  letter  in  which  she  dwelt  upon  the  uncertainties 
of  life,  her  "  duty  to  her  offspring,"  and  the  evils  of  "  vicis- 
situde." "  A  stable  home  is  woman's  chief  desire,"  she  con- 
cluded, "  and  you  will  surely  agree  to  pay  me  the  salary  you 
have  said  for  a  year." 

When  Holcroft  read  this  second  epistle  he  so  far  yielded 
to  his  first  impulse  that  he  half  tore  the  sheet,  then  paused 
irresolutely.  After  a  few  moments  he  went  to  the  door  and 
looked  out  upon  his  acres.  "  It'll  soon  be  plowing  and  plant- 
ing time,"  he  thought.  "  I  guess  I  can  stand  her — at  least  I 
can  try  it  for  three  months.  I'd  like  to  turn  a  few  more 
furrows  on  the  old  place,"  and  his  face  softened  and  grew 
wistful  as  he  looked  at  the  bare,  frost-bound  fields.  Sud- 
denly it  darkened  and  grew  stern  as  he  muttered,  "  But  I'll 
put  my  hand  to  no  more  paper  with  that  Weeks  tribe." 

He  strode  to  the  stable,  saying  to  Timothy  Weeks,  as  he 
passed,  "  I'll  answer  this  letter  in  person." 

Away  cantered  Timothy,  and  soon  caused  a  flutter  of  ex- 
pectancy in  the  Weeks  household,  by  announcing  that  "  old 
Holcroft  looked  back  as  a  thunder  cloud  and  was  comin' 
himself." 


MRS.  MUMPSON  NEGOTIATES  AND   YIELDS  31 

"I  tell  you  what  'tis,  Cynthy,  it's  the  turn  of  a  hair  with 
you  now,"  growled  Weeks.  "Unless  you  agree  to  whatever 
Holcroft  says,  you  haven't  a  ghost  of  a  chance." 

The  widow  felt  that  a  crisis  had  indeed  come.  Cousin 
Abiram's  was  the  next  place  in  the  order  of  visitation,  but 
her  last  experience  there  left  her  in  painful  doubt  as  to  a 
future  reception.  Therefore  she  tied  on  a  new  cap,  smoothed 
her  apron,  and  rocked  with  unwonted  rapidity.  "It'll  be 
according  to  the  ordering  of  Providence — " 

"  Oh,  pshaw !"  interrupted  cousin  Lemuel,  "it'll  be  ac- 
cording to  whether  you've  got  any  sense  or  not." 

Mrs.  Weeks  had  just  been  in  a  pitiable  state  of  mind  all 
day.  She  saw  that  her  husband  had  reached  the  limit  of  his 
endurance — that  he  had  virtually  already  "flown  off  the  han- 
dle." But  to  have  her  own  kin  actually  bundled  out  of  the 
house — what  would  people  say?  Acceptance  of  Holcroft's 
terms,  whatever  they  might  be,  was  the  only  way  out  of  the 
awkward  predicament,  and  so  she  began  in  a  wheedling 
tone,  "Now,  cousin  Cynthy,  as  Lemuel  says,  you've  got  a 
first-rate  chance.  Holcroft's  had  an  awful  time  with  women, 
and  he'll  be  glad  enough  to  do  well  by  any  one  who  does 
fairly  well  by  him.  Everybody  says  he's  well  off,  and  once 
you're  fairly  there  and  get  things  in  your  own  hands,  there's 
no  telling  what  may  happen.  He'll  get  a  girl  to  help  you, 
and  Jane's  big  enough  now  to  do  a  good  deal.  Why,  you'll 
be  the  same  as  keeping  house  like  the  rest  of  us." 

Further  discussion  was  cut  short  by  the  arrival  of  the  vic- 
tim. He  stood  awkwardly  in  the  door  of  the  Weeks  sitting- 
room  for  a  moment,  seemingly  at  a  loss  how  to  state  his  case. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weeks  now  resolved  to  appear  neutral  and 
allow  the  farmer  to  make  his  terms.  Then,  like  other  supe- 
rior powers  in  the  background,  they  proposed  to  exert  a 
pressure  on  their  relative  and  do  a  little  coercing.  But  the 
widow's  course  promised  at  first  to  relieve  them  of  all  further 
effort.  She  suddenly  seemed  to  become  aware  of  Holcroft's 
presence,  sprang  up  and  gave  him  her  hand  very  cordially. 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  she  began.     "  It's  very  con- 


32  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

siderate  of  you  to  come  for  me.  I  can  get  ready  in  short 
order,  and  as  for  Jane,  she's  never  a  bit  of  trouble.  Sit 
down,  sir,  and  make  yourself  to  home  while  I  get  our  things 
together  and  put  on  my  bonnet;"  and  she  was  about  to  hasten 
from  the  room. 

She,  too,  had  been  compelled  to  see  that  Holcroft's  farm- 
house was  the  only  certain  refuge  left,  and  while  she  had 
rocked  and  waited  the  thought  had  come  into  her  scheming 
mind,  "  I've  stipulated  to  stay  a  year,  and  if  he  says  nothing 
against  it,  it's  a  bargain  which  I  can  manage  to  keep  him  to 
in  spite  of  himself,  even  if  I  don't  marry  him." 

But  the  straightforward  farmer  was  not  to  be  caught  in 
such  a  trap.  He  had  come  himself  to  say  certain  words  and 
he  would  say  them.  He  quietly,  therefore,  stood  in  the  door 
and  said,  "  Wait  a  moment,  Mrs.  Mumpson.  It's  best  to 
have  a  plain  understanding  in  all  matters  of  business. 
When  I've  done,  you  may  conclude  not  to  go  with  me,  for 
I  want  to  say  to  you  what  I  said  this  morning  to  your 
cousin,  Lemuel  Weeks.  I'm  glad  he  and  his  wife  are  now 
present,  as  witnesses.  I'm  a  plain  man,  and  all  I  want  is  to 
make  a  livin'  off  the  farm  I've  been  brought  up  on.  I'll 
get  a  girl  to  help  you  with  the  work.  Between  you,  I'll  ex- 
pect it  to  be  done  in  a  way  that  the  dairy  will  yield  a  fair 
profit.  We'll  try  and  see  how  we  get  on  for  three  months 
and  not  a  year.  I'll  not  bind  myself  longer  than  three 
months.  Of  course,  if  you  manage  well,  I'll  be  glad  to 
have  this  plain  business  arrangement  go  on  as  long  as  possi- 
ble, but  it's  all  a  matter  of  business.  If  I  can't  make  my 
farm  pay,  I'm  going  to  sell  or  rent  and  leave  these  parts." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,  Mr.  Holcroft.  You  take  a 
very  senserble  view  of  affairs.  I  hope  you  will  find  that  I 
will  do  all  that  I  agree  to  and  a  great  deal  more.  I'm  a  little 
afraid  of  the  night  air  and  the  inclement  season,  and  so  will 
hasten  to  get  myself  and  my  child  ready,"  and  she  passed 
quickly  out. 

Weeks  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth  to  conceal  ..  grin  as  he 
thought,  "She  hasn't  agreed  to  do  anything  that  I  know  on. 


MRS.  MUMPSON  NEGOTIATES  AND   YIELDS  33 

Still,  she's  right ;  she'll  do  a  sight  more  than  he  expects,  but 
it  won't  be  just  what  he  expects." 

Mrs.  Weeks  followed  her  relative  to  expedite  matters,  and 
it  must  be  confessed  that  the  gathering  of  Mrs.  Mumpson's 
belongings  was  no  heavy  task.  A  small  hair  trunk  that  had 
come  down  from  the  remote  past  held  her  own  and  her 
child's  wardrobe  and  represented  all  their  worldly  posses- 
sions. 

Mr.  "Weeks,  much  pleased  at  the  turn  of  affairs,  became 
very  affable,  but  confined  his  remarks  chiefly  to  the  weather, 
while  Holcroft,  who  had  an  uneasy  sense  of  being  over- 
reached in  some  undetected  way,  was  abstracted  and  laconic. 
He  was  soon  on  the  road  home,  however,  with  Mrs.  Mump- 
son  and  Jane.  Cousin  Lemuel's  last  whispered  charge  was, 
"Now,  for  mercy's  sake,  do  keep  your  tongue  still  and  your 
hands  busy." 

Whatever  possibilities  there  may  be  for  the  Ethiopian  or 
the  leopard,  there  was  no  hope  that  Mrs.  Mumpson  would 
materially  change  any  of  her  characteristics.  The  chief 
reason  was  that  she  had  no  desire  to  change.  A  more  self- 
complacent  person  did  not  exist  in  Oakville.  Good  traits  in 
other  people  did  not  interest  her.  They  were  insipid,  they 
lacked  a  certain  pungency  which  a  dash  of  evil  imparts; 
and  in  the  course  of  her  minute  investigations  she  had  dis- 
cerned or  surmised  so  much  that  was  reprehensible  that  she 
had  come  to  regard  herself  as  singularly  free  from  sins  of 
omission  and  commission.  "What  have  I  ever  done  ?"  she 
would  ask  in  her  self-communings.  The  question  implied 
so  much  truth  of  a  certain  kind  that  all  her  relatives  were  in 
gall  and  bitterness  as  they  remembered  the  weary  months 
during  which  she  had  rocked  idly  at  their  firesides.  With 
her,  talking  was  as  much  of  a  necessity  as  breathing,  but 
during  the  ride  to  the  hillside  farm  she,  in  a  sense,  held  her 
breath,  for  a  keen  March  wind  was  blowing. 

She  was  so  quiet  that  Holcroft  grew  hopeful,  not  realizing 
that  the  checked  flow  of  words  must  have  freer  course  later 
on.  A  cloudy  twilight  was  deepening  fast  when  they 


84  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

reached  the  dwelling.  Holcroft's  market-wagon  served  for 
the  general  purposes  of  conveyance,  and  he  drove  as  near 
as  possible  to  the  kitchen  door.  Descending  from  the 
front  seat,  which  he  had  occupied  alone,  he  turned  and  of- 
fered his  hand  to  assist  the  widow  to  alight,  but  she  ner- 
vously poised  herself  on  the  edge  of  the  vehicle  and  seemed 
to  be  afraid  to  venture.  The  wind  fluttered  her  scanty 
draperies,  causing  her  to  appear  like  a  bird  of  prey  about  to 
swoop  down  upon  the  unprotected  man.  "I'm  afraid  to 
jump  so  far,"  she  began. 

"There's  the  step,  Mrs.  Mumpson." 

"But  I  can't  see  it.     Would  you  mind  lifting  me  down  ?" 

He  impatiently  took  her  by  the  arms,  which  seemed  in 
his  grasp  like  the  rounds  of  a  chair,  and  put  her  on  the 
ground. 

"  Oh !"  she  exclaimed,  in  gushing  tones,  "  there's  noth- 
ing to  equal  the  strong  arms  of  a  man." 

He  hastily  lifted  out  her  daughter,  and  said,  "You  had 
better  hurry  in  to  the  fire.  I'll  be  back  in  a  few  minutes," 
and  he  led  his  horses  down  to  the  barn,  blanketed  and  tied 
them.  When  he  returned,  he  saw  two  dusky  figures  stand- 
ing by  the  front  door  which  led  to  the  little  hall  separating 
the  kitchen  from  the  parlor. 

"  Bless  me !"  he  exclaimed.  "  You  haven't  been  stand- 
ing here  all  this  time?" 

"  It's  merely  due  to  a  little  oversight.  The  door  is 
locked,  you  see,  and — " 

"  But  the  kitchen  door  is  not  locked." 

"  Well,  it  didn't  seem  quite  natural  for  us  to  enter  the 
dwelling  on  the  occasion  of  our  first  arrival  by  the  kitchen 
entrance,  and — " 

Holcroft,  with  a  grim  look,  strode  through  the  kitchen 
and  unlocked  the  door. 

"  Ah !"  exclaimed  the  widow.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  was  coming 
home.  Enter,  Jane,  my  dear.  I'm  sure  the  place  will  soon 
cease  to  be  strange  to  you,  for  the  home  feeling  is  rapidly 
acquired  when — " 


MRS.  MUMPSON  NEGOTIATES  AND   YIELDS  35 

"  Just  wait  a  minute,  please,"  said  Holcroft,  "  and  I'll 
light  the  lamp  and  a  candle."  This  he  did  with  the  deftness 
of  a  man  accustomed  to  help  himself,  then  led  the  way  to 
the  upper  room  which  was  to  be  her  sleeping  apartment. 
Placing  the  candle  on  the  bureau,  he  forestalled  Mrs.  Mump- 
son  by  saying,  "  I'll  freshen  up  the  fire  in  the  kitchen  and 
lay  out  the  ham,  eggs,  coffee  and  other  materials  for  supper. 
Then  I  must  go  out  and  unharness  and  do  my  night  work. 
Make  yourselves  to  home.  You'll  soon  be  able  to  find  every- 
thing," and  he  hastened  away. 

It  would  not  be  their  fault  if  £hey  were  not  soon  able  to 
find  everything.  Mrs.  Mumpson's  first  act  was  to  take  the 
candle  and  survey  the  room  in  every  nook  and  corner.  She 
sighed  when  she  found  the  closet  and  bureau  drawers  empty. 
Then  she  examined  the  quantity  and  texture  of  the  bed- 
ding of  the  "  couch  on  which  she  was  to  repose  "  as  she  would 
express  herself.  Jane  followed  her  around  on  tiptoe,  doing 
just  what  her  mother  did,  but  was  silent.  At  last  they  shiv- 
ered in  the  fireless  apartment,  threw  off  their  scanty  wraps 
and  went  down  to  the  kitchen.  Mrs.  Mumpson  instinctively 
looked  around  for  a  rocking-chair,  and  as  none  was  visible 
she  hastened  to  the  parlor,  and,  holding  the  candle  aloft,  sur- 
veyed this  apartment.  Jane  followed  in  her  wake  as  be- 
fore, but  at  last  ventured  to  suggest,  "  Mother,  Mr.  Hol- 
croft'll  be  in  soon  and  want  his  supper." 

"  I  suppose  he'll  want  a  great  many  things,"  replied 
Mrs.  Mumpson,  with  dignity,  "  but  he  can't  expect  a  lady  of 
my  connections  to  fly  around  like  a  common  servant.  It  is 
but  natural,  in  coming  to  a  new  abode,  that  I  should  wish  to 
know  something  of  that  abode.  There  should  have  been  a 
hired  girl  here  ready  to  receive  and  get  supper  for  us.  Since 
there  is  not  one  to  receive  us,  bring  that  rocking-chair,  my 
dear,  and  I  will  direct  you  how  to  proceed." 

The  child  did  as  she  was  told,  and  her  mother  was  soon 
rocking  on  the  snuggest  side  of  the  kitchen  stove,  interspers- 
ing her  rather  bewildering  orders  with  various  reflections 
and  surmises. 


36  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

Sketching  the  child  Jane  is  a  sad  task,  and  pity  would 
lead  us  to  soften  every  touch  if  this  could  be  done  in  truth- 
fulness. She  was  but  twelve  years  of  age,  yet  there  was 
scarcely  a  trace  of  childhood  left  in  her  colorless  face. 
Stealthy  and  cat-like  in  all  her  movements,  she  gave  the 
impression  that  she  could  not  do  the  commonest  thing  ex- 
cept in  a  sly,  cowering  manner.  Her  small  greenish-gray 
eyes  appeared  to  be  growing  nearer  together  with  the  lapse 
of  time,  and  their  indirect,  furtive  glances  suggested  that 
they  had  hardly,  if  ever,  seen  looks  of  frank  affection  bent 
upon  her.  She  had  early  learned,  on  the  round  of  visits 
with  her  mother,  that  so  far  from  being  welcome  she  was 
scarcely  tolerated,  and  she  reminded  one  of  a  stray  cat  that 
comes  to  a  dwelling  and  seeks  to  maintain  existence  there 
in  a  lurking,  deprecatory  manner.  Her  kindred  recognized 
this  feline  trait,  for  they  were  accustomed  to  remark,  "She's 
always  snoopin'  around." 

She  could  scarcely  do  otherwise,  poor  child!  there  had 
seemed  no  place  for  her  at  any  of  the  firesides.  She 
haunted  halls  and  passage-ways,  sat  in  dusky  corners,  and 
kept  her  meagre  little  form  out  of  sight  as  much  as  possi- 
ble. She  was  the  last  one  helped  at  table  when  she  was 
permitted  to  come  at  all,  and  so  had  early  learned  to  watch, 
like  a  cat,  and  when  people's  backs  were  turned,  to  snatch 
something,  carry  it  off,  and  devour  it  in  secret.  Detected 
in  these  little  pilferings,  to  which  she  was  almost  driven,  she 
was  regarded  as  even  a  greater  nuisance  than  her  mother. 

The  latter  was  much  too  pre-occupied  to  give  her  child 
attention.  Ensconced  in  a  rocking-chair  in  the  best  room, 
and  always  in  full  tide  of  talk  if  there  was  any  one  pres- 
ent, she  rarely  seemed  to  think  where  Jane  was  or  what  she 
was  doing.  The  rounds  of  visitation  gave  the  child  no  chance 
to  go  to  school,  so  her  developing  mind  had  little  other 
pabulum  than  what  her  mother  supplied  so  freely.  She 
was  acquiring  the  same  consuming  curiosity,  with  the  re- 
deeming feature  that  she  did  not  talk.  Listening  in  un- 
suspected places,  she  heard  much  that  was  said  about  her 


MRS.  MUMPSON  NEGOTIATES  AND   YIELDS  37 

mother  and  herself,  and  the  pathetic  part  of  this  experience 
was  that  she  had  never  known  enough  of  kindness  to  be 
wounded.  She  was  only  made  to  feel  more  fully  how  pre- 
carious was  her  foothold  in  her  transient  abiding  place,  and 
therefore  was  rendered  more  furtive,  sly  and  distant  in  order 
to  secure  toleration  by  keeping  out  of  every  one's  way.  In 
her  prowlings,  however,  she  managed  to  learn  and  under- 
stand all  that  was  going  on  even  better  than  her  mother, 
who,  becoming  aware  of  this  fact,  was  acquiring  the  habit 
of  putting  her  through  a  whispered  cross-questioning  when 
they  retired  for  the  night. 

It  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a  child  beginning  life  under 
more  unfavorable  auspices  and  still  harder  to  predict  the 
outcome. 

In  the  course  of  her  close  watchfulness  she  had  observed 
how  many  of  the  domestic  labors  had  been  performed,  and 
she  would  have  helped  more  in  the  various  households  if  she 
had  been  given  a  chance;  but  the  housewives  had  not  re- 
garded her  as  sufficiently  honest  to  be  trusted  in  the  pan- 
tries, and  also  found  that  if  there  was  a  semblance  of  return 
for  such  hospitality  as  they  extended,  Mrs.  Mumpson  would 
remain  indefinitely.  Moreover,  the  homely,  silent  child 
made  the  women  nervous,  just  as  her  mother  irritated  the 
men,  and  they  did  not  want  her  around.  Thus  she  had 
come  to  be  but  the  spectre  of  a  child,  knowing  little  of  the 
good  in  the  world  and  as  much  of  the  evil  as  she  could 
understand. 

She  now  displayed,  however,  more  sense  than  her  mother. 
The  habit  of  close  scrutiny  had  made  it  clear  that  Holcroft 
would  not  long  endure  genteel  airs  and  inefficiency,  and  that 
something  must  be  done  to  keep  this  shelter.  She  did  her 
best  to  get  supper,  with  the  aid  given  from  the  rocking-chair, 
and  at  last  broke  out  sharply,  "You  must  get  up  and  help 
me.  He'll  turn  us  out  of  doors  if  we  don't  have  supper 
ready  when  he  comes  in." 

Spurred  by  fear  of  such  a  dire  possibility,  Mrs.  Mumpson 
was  bustling  around  when  Holcroft  entered.  "  We'll  soon 


38  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

be  ready,"  she  gushed,  "  we'll  soon  place  our  evening  repast 
upon  the  table." 

"  Very   well,"   was   the   brief   reply,    as   he   passed   up 
the  stairs  with  the  small  hair  trunk  on  his  shoulder. 


CHAPTEK  IV 

DOMESTIC      BLISS 

HOLCROFT  had  been  given  a  foretaste  of  the  phase 
of  torment  which  he  was  destined  to  endure  in  his 
domestic  relations,  and  was  planning  to  secure  a 
refuge  into  which  he  could  not  be  pursued.  He  had  made 
himself  a  little  more  presentable  for  supper,  instinctively 
aware  that  nothing  would  escape  the  lynx-eyed  widow,  and 
was  taking  some  measurements  from  the  floor  to  a  stove-pipe 
hole  leading  into  the  chimney  flue,  when  he  became  aware 
that  some  one  was  in  the  doorway.  Turning,  he  saw  Jane 
with  her  small,  cat-like  eyes  fixed  intently  upon  him.  In- 
stantly he  had  the  feeling  that  he  was  being  watched  and 
would  be  watched. 

"  Supper's  ready,"  said  the  girl,  disappearing. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  smiled  upon  him — if  certain  contortions 
of  her  thin,  sharp  face  could  be  termed  a  smile — from  that 
side  of  the  table  at  which  his  wife  had  sat  so  many  years, 
and  he  saw  that  the  low  rocking-chair  which  he  had  pre- 
served jealously  from  his  former  "  help  "  had  been  brought 
from  the  parlor  and  established  in  the  old  familiar  place. 
Mrs.  Mumpson  folded  her  hands  and  assumed  a  look  of 
deep  solemnity;  Jane,  as  instructed,  also  lowered  her  head, 
and  they  waited  for  him  to  say  "  grace."  He  was  in  far  too 
bitter  a  mood  for  any  such  pious  farce,  and  stolidly  began 
to  help  them  to  the  ham  and  eggs,  which  viands  had  been 
as  nearly  spoiled  as  was  possible  in  their  preparation.  The 
widow  raised  her  head  with  a  profound  sigh  whicb  set 


DOMESTIC   BLISS  39 

Holcroft's  teeth  on  edge,  but  he  proceeded  silently  with  his 
supper.  The  biscuits  were  heavy  enough  to  burden  the 
lightest  conscience;  and  the  coffee,  simply  grounds  swim- 
ming around  in  lukewarm  water.  He  took  a  sip,  then  put 
down  his  cup  and  said,  quietly,  "  Guess  I'll  take  a  glass  of 
milk  to-night.  Mrs.  Mumpson,  if  you  don't  know  how  to 
make  coffee,  I  can  soon  show  you." 

"  Why !  isn't  it  right  ?  How  strange !  Perhaps  it  would 
be  well  for  you  to  show  me  just  exactly  how  you  like  it,  for  it 
will  afford  me  much  pleasure  to  make  it  to  your  taste.  Men's 
tastes  differ  so !  I've  heard  that  no  two  men's  tastes  were 
alike;  and,  after  all,  everything  is  a  matter  of  taste.  Now 
cousin  Abiram  doesn't  believe  in  coffee-  at  all.  He  thinks  it 
is  unwholesome.  Have  you  ever  thought  that  it  might 
be  unwholesome?" 

"  I'm  used  to  it,  and  would  like  it  good  when  I  have  it  at 
all." 

"  Why,  of  course,  of  course,  you  must  have  it  exactly  to 
your  taste. — Jane,  my  dear,  we  must  put  our  minds  on  cof- 
fee and  learn  precisely  how  Mr.  Holcroft  likes  it,  and 
when  the  hired  girl  comes  we  must  carefully  superintend 
her  when  she  makes  it. — By  the  way,  I  suppose  you  will 
employ  my  assistant  to-morrow,  Mr.  Holcroft?" 

"  I  can't  get  a  girl  short  of  town,"  was  the  reply,  "  and 
there  is  so  much  cream  in  the  dairy  that  ought  to  be  churned 
at  once  that  I'll  wait  till  next  Monday  and  take  down  the 
butter." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  put  on  a  grave,  injured  air,  and  said, 
"Well,"  so  disapprovingly  that  it  was  virtually  saying  that 
it  was  not  well  at  all.  Then,  suddenly  remembering  that 
this  was  not  good  policy,  she  was  soon  all  smiles  and  chatter 
again.  "How  cosey  this  is!"  she  cried,  "and  how  soon 
one  acquires  the  home  feeling!  Why,  any  one  looking  in 
at  the  window  would  think  that  we  were  an  old-established 
family,  and  yet  this  is  but  our  first  meal  together.  But  it 
won't  be  the  last,  Mr.  Holcroft.  I  cannot  make  it  known  to 
you  how  your  loneliness,  which  cousin  Lemuel  has  so  feel- 


40  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

ingly  described  to  me,  has  effected  my  feelings.  Cousin 
Nancy  said  but  this  very  day  that  you  have  had  desperate 
times  with  all  kinds  of  dreadful  creatures.  But  all  that's 
past.  Jane  and  me  will  give  a  look  of  stability  and  re- 
spectability to  every  comer." 

"  Well,  really,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  I  don't  know  who's  to 
come." 

"  Oh,  you'll  see,"  she  replied,  wrinkling  her  thin,  blue 
lips  into  what  was  meant  for  a  smile,  and  nodding  her 
head  at  him  encouragingly.  "  You  won't  be  so  isolated  no 
more.  Now  that  I'm  here,  with  my  offspring,  your  neigh- 
bors will  feel  that  they  can  show  you  their  sympathy.  The 
most  respecterble  people  in  town  will  call,  and  your  life  will 
grow  brighter  and  brighter;  clouds  will  roll  away,  and — " 

"  I  hope  the  neighbors  will  not  be  so  ill-mannered  as 
to  come  without  being  invited,"  remarked  Mr.  Holcroft, 
very  grimly.  "  It's  too  late  in  the  day  for  them  to  begin 
now." 

"  My  being  here  with  Jane  will  make  all  the  difference  in 
the  world,"  resumed  Mrs.  Mumpson,  with  as  saccharine  an 
expression  as  she  could  assume.  "  They  will  come  out 
of  pure  kindness  and  friendly  interest  with  the  wish  to 
encourage — " 

"  Mrs.  Mumpson,"  said  Holcroft,  half  desperately,  "  if 
any  one  comes  it'll  be  out  of  pure  curiosity,  and  I  don't  want 
such  company.  Selling  enough  butter,  eggs  and  produce  to 
pay  expenses  will  encourage  me  more  than  all  the  people 
of  Oakville  if  they  should  come  in  a  body.  What's  the  use 
of  talking  in  this  way?  I've  done  without  the  neighbors 
so  far,  and  I'm  sure  they've  been  very  careful  to  do  without 
me.  I  shall  have  nothing  to  do  with  them  except  in  the 
way  of  business,  and  as  I  said  to  you  down  at  Lemuel 
Weeks's,  business  must  be  the  first  consideration  with  us 
all,"  and  he  rose  from  the  table. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  the  widow  hastened  to  say, 
"  but  then  business  is  like  a  cloud,  and  the  meetings  and 
greetings  of  friends  is  a  sort  of  silver  lining,  you  know. 


DOMESTIC   BLISS  41 

What  would  the  world  be  without  friends — the  society  of 
those  who  take  an  abiding  interest?  Believe  me,  Mr.  Hoi- 
croft,"  she  continued,  bringing  her  long,  skinny  finger 
impressively  down  on  the  table,  "  you  have  lived  alone  so 
long  that  you  are  unable  to  see  the  crying  needs  of  your 
own  constitution.  As  a  Christian  man,  you  require  human 
sympathy  and — " 

Poor  Holcroft  knew  little  of  centrifugal  force;  but  at 
that  moment  he  was  a  living  embodiment  of  it,  feeling  that  if 
he  did  not  escape  he  would  fly  into  a  thousand  atoms.  Say- 
ing nervously,  "  I've  a  few  chores  to  do,"  he  seized  his 
hat,  and  hastening  out,  wandered  disconsolately  around  the 
barn.  "  I'm  never  going  to  be  able  to  stand  her,"  he 
groaned.  "  I  know  now  why  my  poor  wife  shook  her  head 
whenever  this  woman  was  mentioned.  The  clack  of  her 
tongue  would  drive  any  man  living  crazy,  and  the  gimlet 
eyes  of -that  girl  Jane  would  bore  holes  through  a  saint's 
patience.  Well,  well,  I'll  put  a  stove  up  in  my  room,  then 
plowing  and  planting  time  will  soon  be  here,  and  I  guess  I 
can  stand  it  at  meal  times  for  three  months,  for  unless  she 
stops  her  foolishness  she  shan't  stay  any  longer." 

Jane  had  not  spoken  during  the  meal,  but  kept  her  eyes 
on  Holcroft,  except  when  he  looked  toward  her,  and  then 
she  instantly  averted  her  gaze.  When  she  was  alone  with 
her  mother,  she  said  abruptly,  "  We  ain't  agoin'  to  stay  here 
long,  nuther." 

"  Why  not  ?"  was  the  sharp,  responsive  query. 

"  'Cause  the  same  look's  comin'  into  his  face  that  was  in 
cousin  Lemuel's  and  cousin  Abiram's  and  all  the  rest  of  'em. 
'Fi's  you  I'd  keep  still  now.  'Pears  to  me  they  all  want 
you  to  keep  still  and  you  won't." 

"  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Mumpson,  in  severe  tones,  "  you're  an 
ignorant  child.  Don't  presume  to  instruct  mel  Besides, 
this  case  is  entirely  different.  Mr.  Holcroft  must  be  made 
to  understand  from  the  start  that  I'm  not  a  common  woman 
— that  I'm  his  equal,  and  in  most  respects  his  superior.  If 
he  ain't  made  to  feel  this,  it'll  never  enter  his  head — but 


42  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

law!  there's  things  which  you  can't  and  oughtn't  to  under- 
stand." 

"  But  I  do,"  said  the  girl,  shortly,  "  and  he  won't  marry 
you,  nor  keep  you  if  you  talk  him  to  death." 

"  Jane !"  gasped  Mrs.  Mumpson,  as  she  sank  into  the 
chair  and  rocked  violently. 

The  night  air  was  keen  and  soon  drove  Holcroft  into  the 
house.  As  he  passed  the  kitchen  window,  he  saw  that  Mrs. 
Mumpson  was  in  his  wife's  rocking-chair  and  that  Jane 
was  clearing  up  the  table.  He  kindled  a  fire  on  the  parlor 
hearth,  hoping,  but  scarcely  expecting,  that  he  would  be  left 
alone. 

Nor  was  he  very  long,  for  the  widow  soon  opened  the 
door  and  entered,  carrying  the  chair.  "  Oh,  you  are  here," 
she  said,  sweetly.  "  I  heard  the  fire  crackling,  and  I  do  so 
love  open,  wood  fires.  They're  company  in  themselves,  and 
they  make  those  who  bask  in  the  flickering  blaze  inclined 
to  be  sociable.  To  think  of  how  many  long  lonely  even- 
ings you  have  sat  here  when  you  had  persons  in  your  employ 
with  whom  you  could  have  no  affinity  whatever!  I  don't 
see  how  you  stood  it.  Under  such  circumstances  life  must 
cloud  up  into  a  dreary  burden."  It  never  occurred  to  Mrs. 
Mumpson  that  her  figures  of  speech  were  often  mixed.  She 
merely  felt  that  the  sentimental  phase  of  conversation  must 
be  very  flowery.  But  during  the  first  evening  she  had  re- 
solved on  prudence.  "  Mr.  Holcroft  shall  have  time,"  she 
thought,  "  for  the  hope  to  steal  into  his  heart  that  his  house- 
keeper may  become  something  more  to  him  than  house- 
keeper— that  there  is  a  nearer  and  loftier  relation." 

Meanwhile  she  was  consumed  with  curiosity  to  know 
something  about  the  "  persons "  previously  employed  and 
his  experiences  with  them.  With  a  momentary,  and,  as  she 
felt,  a  proper  pause  before  descending  to  ordinary  topics, 
she  resumed,  "My  dear  Mr.  Holcroft,  no  doubt  it  will  be  a 
relief  to  your  overfraught  mind  to  pour  into  a  symperthetic 
ear  the  story  of  your  troubles  with  those — er—  those  pecul- 
iar females  that — er — that — " 


DOMESTIC   BLISS  43 

"  Mrs.  Mumpson,  it  would  be  a  much  greater  relief  to  my 
mind  to  forget  all  about  'em,"  he  replied,  briefly. 

"  Indeed !"  exclaimed  the  widow.  "  Was  they  as  bad  as 
that?  Who'd  a  thought  it!  Well,  well,  well,  what  people 
there  is  in  the  world !  And  you  couldn't  abide  'em  then  ?" 

"  No,  I  couldn't." 

"  Well  now,  what  hussies  they  must  have  been !  And  to 
think  you  were  here  all  alone  with  no  better  company !  It 
makes  my  heart  bleed.  They  do  say  that  Bridget  Malony 
is  equal  to  anything,  and  I've  no  doubt  but  that  she  took 
things  and  did  things." 

"  Well,  she's  taken  herself  off,  and  that's  enough."  Then 
he  groaned  inwardly,  "Good  Lord!  I  could  stand  her  and 
all  her  tribe  better'n  this  one." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Holcroft,"  pursued  Mrs.  Mumpson,  sinking 
her  voice  to  a  loud,  confidential  whisper,  "  and  I  don't  be- 
lieve you've  any  idea  how  much  she  took  with  her.  I  fear 
you've  been  robbed  in  all  these  vicissitudes.  Men  never 
know  what's  in  a  house.  They  need  caretakers,  respecterble 
women,  that  would  sooner  cut  out  their  tongues  than  pur- 
loin. How  happy  is  the  change  which  has  been  affected! 
How  could  you  abide  in  the  house  with  such  a  person  as 
that  Bridget  Malony  ?" 

"  Well,  well,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  she  abode  with  herself.  I 
at  least  had  this  room  in  peace  and  quietness." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  A  person  so  utterly  unrespecter- 
ble  would  not  think  of  entering  this  apartment;  but  then 
you  had  to  meet  her,  you  know.  You  could  not  act  as  if 
she  was  not,  when  she  was,  and  there  being  so  much  of  her, 
too.  She  was  a  monstrous  looking  person.  It's  dreadful  to 
think  that  such  persons  belong  to  our  sex.  I  don't  wonder 
you  feel  as  you  do  about  it  all.  I  can  understand  you  per- 
fectly. All  your  senserbleness  was  offended.  You  felt  that 
your  very  home  had  become  sacrilegious.  Well,  now,  I  sup- 
pose she  said  awful  things  to  you  ?" 

Holcroft  could  not  endure  this  style  of  inquisition  and 
comment  another  second  longer.  He  rose  and  said,  "Mrs. 


44  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

Mumpson,  if  you  want  to  know  just  what  she  said  and  did 
you  must  go  and  ask  her.  I'm  very  tired.  I'll  go  out  and 
see  that  the  stock's  all  right,  and  then  go  to  bed." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  ejaculated  the  widow.  "  Re- 
pose is  nature's  sweet  rester,  says  the  poet.  I  can  see  how 
recalling  those  dreadful  scenes  with  those  peculiar  females  " 
— but  he  was  gone. 

In  passing  out,  he  caught  sight  of  Jane  whisking  back 
into  the  kitchen.  "  She's  been  listening,"  he  thought. 
"Well,  I'll  go  to  town  to-morrow  afternoon,  get  a  stove  for 
my  room  up  stairs  and  stuff  the  key-hole." 

He  went  to  the  barn  and  looked  with  envy  at  the  placid 
cows  and  quiet  horses.  At  last,  having  lingered  as  long  as 
he  could,  he  returned  to  the  kitchen.  Jane  had  washed  and 
put  away  the  supper  dishes  after  a  fashion,  and  was  now 
sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  in  the  furthest  corner  of  the 
room. 

"  Take  this  candle  and  go  to  your  mother,"  he  said  curtly. 
Then  he  fastened  the  doors  and  put  out  the  lamp.  Stand- 
ing for  an  instant  at  the  parlor  entrance,  he  added,  "Please 
rake  up  the  fire  and  put  out  the  light  before  you  come  up. 
Good-night." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,  we'll  look  after  everything 
just  as  if  it  was  our  own.  The  sense  of  strangeness  will  soon 
pass  " — but  his  steps  were  half-way  up  the  stairs. 

Mother  and  daughter  listened  until  they  heard  him  over- 
head, then  taking  the  candle,  they  began  a  most  minute 
examination  of  everything  in  the  room. 

Poor  Holcroft  listened  also,  too  worried,  anxious  and 
nervous  to  sleep  until  they  came  up  and  all  sounds  ceased 
in  the  adjoining  apartment. 


MRS.   MUMPSON    TAKES    UP   HER   BURDENS          45 


CHAPTEE  V 

MRS.  MUMPSON  TAKES  UP  HER  BURDENS 

THE  next  morning,  Holcroft  awoke  early.  The  rising 
sun  flooded  his  plain  little  room  with  mellow  light. 
It  was  impossible  to  give  way  to  dejection  in  that 
radiance,  and  hope,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  sprung  up  in  his 
heart.  He  was  soon  dressed,  and  having  kindled  the  kitchen 
fire,  went  out  on  the  porch.  There  had  been  a  change  in 
the  wind  during  the  night,  and  now  it  blew  softly  from  the 
south.  The  air  was  sweet  with  the  indefinable  fragrance  of 
spring.  The  ethereal  notes  of  bluebirds  were  heard  on 
every  side.  Migratory  robins  were  feeding  in  the  orchard, 
whistling  and  calling  their  noisy  congratulations  on  arriving 
at  old  haunts.  The  frost  was  already  oozing  from  the 
ground,  but  the  farmer  welcomed  the  mud,  knowing  that  it 
indicated  a  long  advance  toward  plowing  and  planting  time, 
time. 

He  bared  his  head  to  the  sweet,  warm  air  and  took  long, 
deep  breaths.  "  If  this  weather  holds,"  he  muttered,  "I 
can  soon  put  in  some  early  potatoes  on  that  warm  hillside 
yonder.  Yes,  I  can  stand  even  her  for  the  sake  of  being  on 
the  old  place  in  mornings  like  this.  The  weather'll  be  get- 
ting better  every  day  and  I  can  be  out  of  doors  more.  I'll 
have  a  stove  in  my  room  to-night;  I  would  last  night  if  the 
old  air-tight  hadn't  given  out  completely.  I'll  take  it  to  town 
this  afternoon  and  sell  it  for  old  iron.  Then  I'll  get  a  bran' 
new  one  and  put  it  up  in  my  room.  They  can't  follow  me 
there  and  they  can't  follow  me  out-doors,  and  so  perhaps  I 
can  live  in  peace  and  work  most  of  the  time." 


46  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

Thus  he  was  murmuring  to  himself,  as  lonely  people  so 
often  do,  when  he  felt  that  some  one  was  near.  Turning  sud- 
denly, he  saw  Jane  half -hidden  by  the  kitchen  door.  Finding 
herself  observed,  the  girl  came  forward  and  said  in  her 
brief,  monotonous  way — 

"Mother'll  be  down  soon.  If  you'll  show  me  how  you 
want  the  coffee  and  things,  I  guess  I  can  learn." 

"  I  guess  you'll  have  to,  Jane.  There'll  be  more  chance 
of  your  teaching  your  mother  than  of  her  teaching  you,  I 
fear.  But  we'll  see,  we'll  see!  it's  strange  people  can't  see 
what's  sensible  and  best  for  'em  when  they  see  so  much." 

The  child  made  no  reply,  but  watched  him  intently  as  he 
measured  out  and  then  ground  half  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"  The  first  thing  to  do,"  he  began,  kindly,  "  is  to  fill  the 
kettle  with  water  fresh  drawn  from  the  well.  Never  make 
coffee  or  tea  with  water  that's  been  boiled  two  or  three 
times.  Now,  I'll  give  the  kettle  a  good  rinsing,  so  as  to 
make  sure  you  start  with  it  clean." 

Having  accomplished  this,  he  filled  the  vessel  at  the  well 
and  placed  it  on  the  fire,  remarking  as  he  did  so,  "  Your 
mother  can  cook  a  little,  can't  she  ?" 

"  I  s'pose  so,"  Jane  replied.  "  When  father  was  livin' 
mother  said  she  kept  a  girl.  Since  then,  we've  visited 
round.  But  she'll  learn,  and  if  she  can't,  I  can." 

"  What  on  earth — but  there's  no  use  of  talking.  When 
the  water  boils,  bubbles  up  and  down,  you  know,  call  me. 
I  suppose  you  and  your  mother  can  get  the  rest  of  the  break- 
fast ? — Oh,  good  morning,  Mrs.  Mumpson.  I  was  just  show- 
ing Jane  about  the  coffee.  You  two  can  go  on  and  do  all 
the  rest,  but  don't  touch  the  coffee  till  the  kettle  boils  and 
then  I'll  come  in  and  show  you  my  way,  and,  if  you  please, 
I  don't  wish  it  any  other  way." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,"  began  Mrs.  Mumpson,  but 
Holcroft  waited  to  hear  no  more. 

"  She's  a  woman,"  he  muttered,  "  and  I'll  say  nothing 
rude  or  ugly  to  her,  but  I  sha'n't  listen  to  her  talk  half  a 
minute  when  I  can  help  myself;  and  if  she  won't  do  any 


MBS.  MUMPSON   TAKES    UP  HER   BURDENS          47 

thing  but  talk — well,  we'll  see,  we'll  see.  A  few  hours  in 
the  dairy  will  show  whether  she  can  use  anything  besides 
her  tongue." 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone  Jane  turned  sharply  on  her 
mother  and  said,  "  Now  you've  got  to  do  something  to  help. 
At  cousin  Lemuel's  and  other  places  they  wouldn't  let  us 
help.  Anyhow,  they  wouldn't  let  me.  He  spects  us  both 
to  work,  and  pays  you  for  it.  I  tell  you  agin,  he  won't  let 
us  stay  here  unless  we  do.  I  won't  go  visitin'  round  any 
more,  feelin'  like  a  stray  cat  in  every  house  I  go  to.  You've 
got  to  work,  and  talk  less." 

"  Why  Jane !  how  you  talk !" 

"  I  talk  sense.     Come,  help  me  get  breakfast." 

"  Do  you  think  that's  a  proper  way  for  a  child  to  address 
a  parent?" 

"  No  matter  what  I  think.  Come  and  help.  You'll  soon 
know  what  he  thinks  if  we  keep  breakfast  waitin'." 

"  Well,  I'll  do  such  menial  work  until  he  gets  a  girl,  and 
then  he  shall  learn  that  he  can't  expect  one  with  such  re- 
specterble  connections — " 

"Hope  I  may  never  see  any  of  'em  agin,"  interrupted 
Jane,  shortly,  and  then  she  relapsed  into  silence  while  her 
mother  rambled  on  in  her  characteristic  way,  making  singu- 
larly inapt  efforts  to  assist  in  the  task  before  them. 

As  Holcroft  rose  from  milking  a  cow  he  found  Jane  be- 
side him.  (A  ghost  could  not  have  come  more  silently,  and 
again  her  stealthy  ways  gave  him  an  unpleasant  sensation. 
"  Kettle  is  boilin',"  she  said,  and  was  gone. 

He  shook  his  head  and  muttered,  "  Queer  tribe,  these 
Mumpsons.  I've  only  to  get  an  odd  fish  of  a  girl  to  help 
and  I'll  have  something  like  a  menagerie  in  the  house."  He 
carried  his  pails  of  foaming  milk  to  the  dairy,  and  then 
entered  the  kitchen. 

"  I've  only  a  minute,"  he  began,  hastily,  seeking  to  fore- 
stall the  widow.  "Yes,  the  kettle's  boiling  all  right.  First 
scald  out  the  coffee-pot — put  three-quarters  of  a  cup  of 
ground  coffee  into  the  pot,  break  an  egg  into  it,  so;  pour 


48  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

on  the  egg  and  coffee  half  a  cup  of  cold  water  and  stir  it  all 
up  well,  this  way.  Next  pour  in  about  a  pint  of  boiling 
water  from  the  kettle,  set  the  pot  on  the  stove  and  let  it — 
the  coffee,  I  mean — cook  twenty  minutes,  remember,  not 
less  than  twenty  minutes.  I'll  be  back  to  breakfast  by  that 
time.  Now  you  know  just  how  I  want  my  coffee,  don't 
you  ?"  looking  at  Jane. 

Jane  nodded,  but  Mrs.  Mumpson  began,  "  Oh,  certainly, 
certainly.  Boil  an  egg  twenty  minutes,  add  half  a  cup  of 
cold  water,  and — " 

"  I  know,"  interrupted  Jane,  "  I  can  always  do  as  you 
did." 

Holcroft  again  escaped  to  the  barn,  and  eventually  re- 
turned with  a  deep  sigh.  "  I'll  have  to  face  a  good  deal  of 
her  music  this  morning,"  he  thought,  "  but  I  shall  have  at 
least  a  good  cup  of  coffee  to  brace  me." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  did  not  abandon  the  suggestion  that  grace 
should  be  said — she  never  abandoned  anything — but  the 
farmer,  in  accordance  with  his  purpose  to  be  civil,  yet  pay 
no  attention  to  her  obtrusive  ways,  gave  no  heed  to  her  hint. 
He  thought  Jane  looked  apprehensive,  and  soon  learned  the 
reason.  His  coffee  was  at  least  hot,  but  seemed  exceedingly 
weak. 

"  I  hope  now  that  it's  just  right,"  said  Mrs.  Mumpson 
complacently,  "  and  feeling  sure  that  it  was  made  just  to 
suit  you,  I  filled  the  coffee-pot  full  from  the  kettle.  We  can 
drink  what  we  desire  for  breakfast  and  then  the  rest  can 
be  set  aside  until  dinner  time  and  warmed  over.  Then 
you'll  have  it  just  to  suit  you  for  the  next  meal,  and  we, 
at  the  same  time,  will  be  practicing  econermy.  It  shall  now 
be  my  great  aim  to  help  you  econermize.  Any  coarse, 
menial  hands  can  work,  but  the  great  thing  to  be  consid- 
ered is  a  caretaker,  one  who,  by  thoughtfulness  and  the  em- 
ployment of  her  mind,  will  make  the  labor  of  others 
affective." 

During  this  speech,  Holcroft  could  only  stare  at  the 
woman.  The  rapid  motion  of  her  thin  jaw  seemed  to  fasci- 


MBS.   MUMPSON   TAKES    UP  HER   BURDENS          49 

nate  him,  and  he  was  in  perplexity  over  not  merely  her  rapid 
utterance,  but  also  the  queries.  Had  she  maliciously  spoiled 
the  coffee ?  or  didn't  she  know  any  better ?  "I  can't  make 
her  out,"  he  thought,  "  but  she  shall  learn  that  I  have  a  will 
of  my  own,"  and  he  quietly  rose,  took  the  coffee-pot  and 
poured  its  contents  out  of  doors ;  then  went  through  the  whole 
process  of  making  his  favorite  beverage  again,  saying  coldly, 
"  Jane,  you  had  better  watch  close  this  time.  I  don't  wish 
any  one  to  touch  the  coffee-pot  but  you." 

Even  Mrs.  Mumpson  was  a  little  abashed  by  his  manner, 
but  when  he  resumed  his  breakfast  she  speedily  recovered 
her  complacency  and  volubility.  "  I've  always  heard,"  she 
said,  with  her  little  cackling  laugh,  "  that  men  would  be 
extra vergant,  especially  in  some  things.  There  are  some 
things  they're  fidgety  about  and  will  have  just  so.  Well, 
well,  who  has  a  better  right  than  a  well-to-do,  fore-handed 
manj  Woman  is  to  complement  the  man,  and  it  should^, 
be  her  aim  to  study  the  great- — the  great — shall  we  say  rea- 
son, for  her  being  ?  which  is  adaptation,"  and  she  uttered  the 
word  with  feeling,  assured  that  Holcroft  could  not  fail  of 
being  impressed  by  it.  The  poor  man  was  bolting  such  food 
as  had  been  prepared  in  his  haste  to  get  away. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  widow,  "  adaptation  is  woman's 
mission  and — " 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  your  and  Jane's  mission  this 
morning  will  be  to  get  as  much  butter  as  possible  out  of  the 
cream  and  milk  on  hand.  I'll  set  the  old  dog  on  the  wheel, 
and  start  the  churn  within  half  an  hour,"  and  he  rose  with 
the  thought,  "  I'd  rather  finish  my  breakfast  on  milk  and 
coffee  by  and  by  than  stand  this."  And  he  said,  "Please 
let  the  coffee  be  until  I  come  in  to  show  you  about  taking 
out  and  working  the  butter." 

The  scenes  in  the  dairy  need  not  be  dwelt  upon.  He 
saw  that  Jane  might  be  taught,  and  that  she  would  probably 
try  to  do  all  that  her  strength  permitted.  It  was  perfectly 
clear  that  Mrs.  Mumpson  was  not  only  ignorant  of  the  duties 
which  he  had  employed  her  to  perform,  but  that  she  was 
R_C— XVIII 


50  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

also  too  preoccupied  with  her  talk  and  notions  of  gentility 
ever  to  learn.  He  was  already  satisfied  that  in  inducing  him 
to  engage  her,  Lemuel  Weeks  had  played  him  a  trick,  but 
there  seemed  no  other  resource  than  to  fulfil  his  agreement. 
With  Mrs.  Mumpson  in  the  house,  there  might  be  less  diffi- 
culty in  securing  and  keeping  a  hired  girl  who,  with  Jane, 
might  do  the  essential  work.  But  the  future  looked  so 
unpromising  that  even  the  strong  coffee  could  not  sustain 
his  spirits.  The  hopefulness  of  the  early  morning  departed, 
leaving  nothing  but  dreary  uncertainty. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  was  bent  upon  accompanying  him  to  town 
and  engaging  the  girl  herself.  "  There  would  be  great  pro- 
priety in  my  doing  so,"  she  argued  at  dinner,  "  and  propri- 
ety is  something  that  adorns  all  the  human  race.  There 
would  be  no  danger  of  my  getting  any  of  the  peculiar  females 
such  as  you  have  been  afflicted  with.  As  I  am  to  superin- 
tend her  labors,  she  will  look  up  to  me  with  respect  and 
humility  if  she  learns  from  the  first  to  recognize  in  me  a 
superior  on  whom  she  will  be  dependent  for  her  daily  bread. 
No  shiftless  hussy  would  impose  upon  me.  I  would  bring 
home — how  sweet  the  word  sounds! — a  model  of  industry 
and  patient  endurance.  She  would  be  deferential,  she  would 
know  her  place,  too.  Everything  would  go  like  clockwork 
in  our  home.  I'll  put  on  my  things  at  once  and — 

"  Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Mumpson.  It  would  not  be  right  to 
leave  Jane  here  alone.  Moreover,  I'd  rather  engage  my  own 
help." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mr.  Holcrof  t,  you  don't  realize — men 
never  do  realize — that  you  will  have  a  long,  lonely  ride 
with  a  female  of  unknown — unknown  antercedents.  It  will 
be  scarcely  respecterble,  and  respecterbility  should  be  man 
and  woman's  chief  aim.  Jane  is  not  a  timid  child,  and  in  an 
emergency  like  this,  even  if  she  was,  she  would  gladly  sacri- 
fice herself  to  sustain  the  proprieties  of  life.  Now  that 
your  life  has  begun  under  new  and  better  auspices,  I  feel 
that  I  ought  to  plead  with  you  not  to  cloud  your  brightening 
prospects  by  a  thoughtless  unregard  of  what  society  looks 


MRS.   MUMPSON   TAKES    UP   HER   BURDENS          51 

upon  as  proper.  The  eyes  of  the  community  will  now  be 
upon  us — " 

"  You  must  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Mumpson.  All  I  ask  of  the 
community  is  to  keep  their  eyes  on  their  own  business,  while 
I  attend  to  mine  in  my  own  way.  The  probabilities  are  that 
the  girl  will  come  out  on  the  stage  Monday,"  and  he  rose 
from  the  dinner-table  and  hastily  made  his  preparations  for 
departure.  He  was  soon  driving  rapidly  away,  having  a  sort 
of  nervous  apprehension  lest  Jane,  or  the  widow,  should 
suddenly  appear  on  the  seat  beside  him.  A  basket  of  eggs 
and  some  inferior  butter,  with  the  burned-out  stove,  were  in 
his  wagon  and  his  bank-book  was  in  his  pocket.  It  was 
with  sinking  heart  that  he  thought  of  making  further  inroads 
on  his  small  accumulations. 

Before  he  was  out  of  sight,  Mrs.  Mumpson  betook  herself 
to  the  rocking-chair  and  began  to  expatiate  on  the  blindness 
and  obduracy  of  men  in  general  and  of  Mr.  Holcroft  in  par- 
ticular. "  They  are  all  much  alike,"  she  complained,  "  and 
are  strangely  neglectful  of  the  proprieties  of  life.  My  dear, 
deceased  husband,  your  father,  was  becoming  gradually  sen- 
serble  of  my  value  in  guiding  him  in  this  respect,  and  in- 
deed, I  may  add  in  all  respects,  when  in  the  very  prime  of  his 
expanding  manhood  he  was  laid  low.  Of  course,  my  happi- 
ness was  buried  then  and  my  heart  can  never  throb  again,  but 
I  have  a  mission  in  the  world — I  feel  it — and  here  is  a 
desolate  home  bereft  of  female  influence  and  consolation  and 
hitherto  painfully  devoid  of  respecterbility.  I  once  called 
on  the  late  Mrs.  Holcroft,  and — I  must  say  it — I  went 
away  depressed  by  a  sense  of  her  lack  of  ability  to  de- 
velop in  her  husband  those  qualities  which  would  make 
him  an  ornerment  to  society.  She  was  a  silent  woman,  she 
lacked  mind  and  ideas.  She  had  seen  little  of  the  world  and 
knew  not  what  was  swaying  people.  Therefore,  her  hus- 
band, having  nothing  else  to  think  of,  became  absorbed  in 
the  accumulation  of  dollars.  Xot  that  I  object  to  dollars 
— they  have  their  proper  place — but  minds  should  be  fixed 
on  all  things.  "We  should  take  a  deep  personal  interest  in 


52  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

our  fellow  beings,  and  thus  we  grow  broad.  As  I  was  say- 
ing, Mr.  Holcroft  was  not  developed  by  his  late  spouse.  He 
needs  awakening,  arousing,  stimulating,  drawing  out,  and 
such  I  feel  to  be  my  mission.  I  must  be  patient;  I  cannot 
expect  the  habits  of  years  to  pass  away  under  a  different  kind 
of  female  influence,  at  once." 

Jane  had  been  stolidly  washing  and  putting  away  dishes 
during  this  partial  address  to  herself  and  partial  soliloquy, 
but  now  remarked,  "You  and  me  will  pass  away  in  a  week 
if  you  go  on  as  you've  begun.  I  can  see  it  comin'.  Then 
where'll  we  go  to  ?" 

"  Your  words,  Jane,  only  show  that  you  are  an  ignorant, 
shortsighted  child.  Do  you  suppose  that  a  woman  of  my 
years  and  experience  would  make  no  better  provision  for  the 
future  than  a  man's  changeful  mind — a  warped  and  unde- 
veloped mind  at  that?  No;  I  have  an  agreement  with  Mr. 
Holcroft.  I  shall  be  a  member  of  his  household  for  three 
months  at  least,  and  long  before  that  he  will  begin  to  see 
everything  in  a  new  light.  It  will  gradually  dawn  upon  him 
that  he  has  been  defrauded  of  proper  female  influence  and 
society.  Now,  he  is  crude,  he  thinks  only  of  work  and 
accumulating,  but  when  the  work  is  done  by  a  menial  fe- 
male's hands  and  his  mind  is  more  at  rest,  there  will  begin 
to  steal  in  upon  him  the  cravings  of  his  mind.  He  will  see 
that  material  things  are  not  all  in  all." 

"  P'raps  he  will.  I  don't  half  know  what  you're  talkin* 
about.  'Fi's  you  I'd  learn  to  work  and  do  things  as  he 
wants  'em.  That's  what  I'm  goin'  to  do.  Shall  I  go  now 
and  make  up  his  bed  and  tidy  his  room  ?" 

"  I  think  I  will  accompany  you,  Jane,  and  see  that  your 
task  is  properly  performed." 

"  Of  course  you  want  to  see  everythin'  in  the  room,  just 
as  I  do." 

"  As  housekeeper,  I  should  see  everything  that  is  under 
my  care.  That  is  the  right  way  to  look  at  the  matter." 

"  Well,  come  and  look  then." 

"You  are  becoming  strangely  disrerspectful,  Jane." 


MRS.  MUMPSON  TAKES   UP  HER  BURDENS  53 

"  Can't  help  it,"  replied  the  girl,  "I'm  gettin'  mad. 
We've  been  elbowed  around  long's  I  can  remember,  at  least 
I've  been,  and  now  we're  in  a  place  where  we've  a  right  to  be, 
and  you  do  nothin'  but  talk,  talk,  talk,  when  he  hates  talk. 
oSTow  you'll  go  up  in  his  room  and  you'll  see  everythin'  In 
it,  so  you  could  tell  it  all  off  to-morrow.  Why,  can't  you 
see  he  hates  talk  and  wants  somethin'  done  ?" 

"  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Mumpson,  in  her  most  severe  and  dig- 
nified manner,  "you  are  not  only  disrerspectful  to  your 
parent,  but  you're  a  time-server.  What  Mr.  Holcroft  wants 
is  a  very  secondary  matter;  what  is  best  for  him  is  the  chief 
consideration.  But  I  have  touched  on  things  far  above  your 
comprehension.  Come,  you  can  make  up  the  bed,  and  I 
shall  inspect  as  becomes  my  station." 


54:  HE    FELL    IN    LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER  VI 

A     MARRIAQE? 

IN  a  quiet  side  street  of  the  market  town  in  which  Mr. 
Holcroft  was  accustomed  to  dispose  of  his  farm  produce, 
was  a  three-story  tenement  house.  A  family  occupied 
each  floor,  those  dwelling  in  the  first  two  stories  being  plain, 
respectable  people  of  the  mechanic  class.  The  rooms  in 
the  third  story  were,  of  course,  the  cheapest,  but  even  from 
«he  street  might  be  seen  evidences  that  more  money  had 
been  spent  upon  them  than  could  have  been  saved  in  rent. 
Lace  curtains  were  looped  aside  from  the  windows,  through 
which  were  caught  glimpses  of  flowers  that  must  have  come 
from  a  greenhouse.  We  have  only  to  enter  these  apart- 
ments to  find  that  the  suggestion  of  refined  taste  is  amply  ful- 
filled. While  nothing  is  costly,  there  is  a  touch  of  grace,  a 
hint  of  beauty  in  everything  permitting  simple  adornment. 
The  mistress  of  these  rooms  is  not  satisfied  with  neatness  and 
order  merely!  it  is  her  instinct  to  add  something  to  please 
the  eye,  a  need  essential  to  her,  yet  too  often  conspicuously 
absent  in  rented  quarters  of  a  similar  character. 

It  is  remarkable  to  what  a  degree  people's  abodes  are  a 
reflex  of  themselves.  Mrs.  Alida  Ostrom  had  been  brought 
to  these  rooms  a  happy  bride  but  a  few  months  since.  They 
were  then  bare  and  not  very  clean.  Her  husband  had  seemed 
bent  on  indulging  her  so  far  as  his  limited  means  permitted. 
He  had  declared  that  his  income  was  so  modest  that  he  could 
afford  nothing  better  than  these  cheap  rooms  in  an  ob- 
scure street,  but  she  had  been  abundantly  content,  for  she 
had  known  even  the  extremity  of  poverty. 

Alida  Ostrom  had  passed  beyond  the  period  of  girlhood, 


A    MARRIAGE  f  55 

with  its  superficial  desires  and  ambitions.  When  her  hus- 
band first  met  her,  she  was  a  woman  of  thirty  and  had  been 
chastened  by  deep  sorrows  and  some  bitter  experiences. 
Years  before,  she  and  her  mother  had  come  to  this  town 
from  a  New  England  city  in  the  hope  of  bettering  their  cir- 
cumstances. They  had  no  weapons  other  than  their  needles 
with  which  to  fight  life's  battle,  but  they  were  industrious 
and  frugal — characteristic  traits  which  won  the  confidence 
of  the  shopkeepers  for  whom  they  worked.  All  went  as 
well,  perhaps,  as  they  could  expect,  for  two  or  three  years, 
their  secluded  lives  passing  uneventfully  and,  to  a  certain 
extent,  happily.  They  had  time  to  read  some  good  books  ob- 
tained at  a  public  library;  they  enjoyed  an  occasional  holi- 
day in  the  country;  and  they  went  to  church  twice  every 
Sunday  when  it  was  not  stormy.  The  mother  usually  dozed 
in  the  obscure  seat  near  the  door,  which  they  occupied,  for 
she  was  getting  old,  and  the  toil  of  the  long  week  wearied 
her.  Alida,  on  the  contrary,  was  closely  attentive.  Her  mind 
seemed  to  crave  all  the  sustenance  it  could  get  from  every 
source,  and  her  reverential  manner  indicated  that  the  hopes 
inspired  by  her  faith  were  dear  and  cherished.  Although 
they  lived  such  quiet  lives  and  kept  themselves  apart  from 
their  neighbors,  there  was  no  mystery  about  them  which 
awakened  surmises.  "They've  seen  better  days,"  was  the 
common  remark  when  they  were  spoken  of;  and  this  was 
true.  While  they  had  no  desire  to  be  social  with  the  people 
among  whom  they  lived,  they  did  not  awaken  prejudices  by 
the  assertion  of  superiority.  Indeed,  it  was  seen  that  the 
two  women  had  all  they  could  do  to  earn  their  livelihood, 
and  they  were  left  to  do  this  in  peace. 

When  Alida  Armstrong — for  that  was  her  maiden  name 
— carried  her  own  and  her  mother's  work  to  and  from  the 
shops,  she  often  encountered  admiring  glances.  She  was 
not  exactly  pretty,  but  she  had  the  good,  refined  face  which 
is  often  more  attractive  than  the  merely  pretty  one,  and  she 
possessed  a  trim,  rounded  figure  which  she  knew  how  to 
clothe  with  taste  from  the  simplest  and  most  inexpensive 


56  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

materials.  ISTor  did  she  seek  to  dress  above  her  station. 
When  passing  along  the  street,  any  discerning  person  would 
recognize  that  she  was  a  working  girl;  only  the  superficial 
would  look  upon  her  as  a  common-place  girl.  There  was 
something  in  her  modest  air  and  graceful,  elastic  carriage 
which  suggested  the  thought  to  many  observers,  "She  has 
seen  better  days." 

The  memory  of  these  days  which  had  promised  immunity 
from  wearing  toil,  anxiety  and  poverty,  was  a  barrier  be- 
tween the  two  women  and  their  present  world.  Death  had 
bereft  them  of  husband  and  father,  and  such  property  as  he 
had  left  had  been  lost  in  a  bad  investment.  Learning  that 
they  were  almost  penniless,  they  had  patiently  set  about 
earning  honest  bread.  This  they  had  succeeded  in  doing 
as  long  as  the  mother  kept  her  usual  health.  But  the  in- 
firmities of  age  were  creeping  upon  her.  One  winter,  she 
took  a  heavy  cold  and  was  very  ill.  She  rallied  only  tem- 
porarily in  the  milder  days  of  spring.  In  the  summer's 
heat,  her  strength  failed  and  she  died. 

During  her  mother's  long  illness,  Alida  was  devotion  it- 
self. The  strain  upon  her  was  severe  indeed,  for  she  not 
only  had  to  earn  food  for  both,  but  there  were  also  doctor's 
bills,  medicines  and  delicacies  to  pay  for.  The  poor  girl 
grew  thin  from  work  by  day,  watching  by  night  and  from 
fear  and  anxiety  at  all  times.  Their  scanty  savings  were 
exhausted;  articles  were  sold  from  their  rooms;  the  few 
precious  heirlooms  of  silver  and  china  were  disposed  of; 
Alida  even  denied  herself  the  food  she  needed  rather  than 
ask  for  help  or  permit  her  mother  to  want  for  anything 
which  ministered  to  their  vain -hopes  of  renewed  health. 

What  she  should  have  done  she  scarcely  knew  had  not  an 
unexpected  friend  interested  himself  in  her  behalf.  In  one 
of  the  men's  clothing  stores  was  a  cutter  from  whom  she 
obtained  work.  Soon  after  he  appeared  in  this  shop  he 
began  to  manifest  signs  of  interest  in  her.  He  was  about 
her  own  age,  he  had  a  good  trade,  and  she  often  wondered 
why  he  appeared  so  reticent  and  moody,  as  compared  with 


A    MAURI  AGE  t  57 

others  in  similar  positions.  But  he  always  spoke  kindly  to 
her,  and  when  her  mother's  illness  first  developed,  he  showed 
all  the  leniency  permitted  to  him  in  regard  to  her  work. 
His  apparent  sympathy,  and  the  need  of  explaining  why 
she  was  not  able  to  finish  her  tasks  as  promptly  as  usual, 
led  her  gradually  to  reveal  to  him  the  sad  struggle  in  which 
she  was  engaged.  He  promised  to  intercede  in  her  behalf 
with  their  mutual  employers,  and  asked  if  he  might  come 
to  see  her  mother. 

Recognizing  how  dependent  she  was  upon  this  man's 
goodwill,  and  seeing  nothing  in  his  conduct  but  kindness 
and  sympathy,  she  consented.  His  course  and  his  words 
confirmed  all  her  good  impressions  and  awakened  on  her 
side  corresponding  sympathy  united  with  a  lively  gratitude. 
He  told  her  that  he  also  was  a  stranger  in  the  town,  that  he 
had  but  few  acquaintances  and  no  friends,  that  he  had  lost 
relatives  and  was  in  no  mood  to  go  about  like  other  young 
men.  His  manner  was  marked  apparently  by  nothing  more 
than  interest  and  a  wish  to  help  her,  and  was  untinged  by 
gallantry;  so  they  gradually  became  good  friends.  When 
he  called  Sunday  afternoons,  the  mother  looked  at  him  wist- 
fully, in  the  hope  that  her  daughter  would  not  be  left  with- 
out a  protector.  At  last,  the  poor  woman  died,  and  Alida 
was  in  sore  distress,  for  she  had  no  means  with  which  to 
bury  her.  Ostrom  came  and  said  in  the  kindest  tones — 
"  You  must  let  me  lend  you  what  you  need  and  you  can  pay 
me  back  with  interest,  if  you  wish.  You  won't  be  under 
any  obligation,  for  I  have  money  lying  idle  in  the  bank. 
When  you  have  only  yourself  to  support  it  will  not  take  you 
long  to  earn  the  sum." 

There  seemed  nothing  else  for  her  to  do  and  so  it  was 
arranged.  With  tear-blinded  eyes,  she  made  her  simple 
mourning,  and  within  a  week  after  her  mother's  death  was 
at  work  again,  eager  to  repay  her  debt.  He  urged  her  not 
to  hasten — to  take  all  the  rest  she  could  while  the  hot 
weather  lasted,  and  few  evenings  passed  that  he  did  not 
come  to  take  her  out  for  a  walk  through  the  quieter  streets. 


58  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

By  this  time  he  had  won  her  confidence  completely,  and 
her  heart  overflowed  with  gratitude.  Of  course  she  was  not 
so  unsophisticated  as  not  to  know  whither  all  this  attention 
was  tending,  but  it  was  a  great  relief  to  her  mind  that  his 
courtship  was  so  quiet  and  undemonstrative.  Her  heart 
was  sore  and  grief-stricken  and  she  was  not  conscious  of 
any  other  feeling  toward  him  than  the  deepest  gratitude 
and  wish  to  make  such  return  as  was  within  her  power.  He 
was  apparently  very  frank  in  regard  to  his  past  life,  and 
nothing  was  said  which  excited  her  suspicions.  Indeed,  she 
felt  that  it  would  be  disloyalty  to  think  of  questioning  or  sur- 
mising evil  of  one  who  had  proved  himself  so  true  a  friend 
in  her  sore  need.  She  was  therefore  somewhat  prepared  for 
the  words  he  spoke  one  warm  September  day,  as  they  sat 
together  in  a  little  shaded  park. 

"  Alida,"  he  said,  a  little  nervously,  "  we  are  both  strang- 
ers and  alone  in  this  world,  but  surely  we  are  no  longer 
strangers  to  each  other.  Let  us  go  quietly  to  some  minister 
and  be  married.  That  is  the  best  way  for  you  to  pay  your 
debt  and  keep  me  always  in  debt  to  you." 

She  was  silent  a  moment,  then  faltered,  "  I'd  rather  pay 
all  my  debt  first." 

"What  debts  can  there  be  between  husband  and  wife? 
Come  now,  let  us  look  at  the  matter  sensibly.  I  don't  want 
to  frighten  you.  Things  will  go  on  much  the  same.  We 
can  take  quiet  rooms,  I  will  bring  work  to  you  instead  of 
your  having  to  go  after  it.  It's  nobody's  business  but  our 
own.  We've  not  a  circle  of  relations  to  consult  or  invite. 
We  can  go  to  some  parsonage,  the  minister's  family  will  be 
the  witnesses ;  then  I'll  leave  you  at  your  room  as  usual,  and 
no  one  will  be  any  the  wiser  till  I've  found  a  place  where  we 
can  go  to  housekeeping.  That  won't  be  long,  I  can  tell  you." 

He  placed  the  matter  in  such  a  simple,  natural  light  that 
she  did  not  know  how  to  refuse. 

"  Perhaps  I  do  not  love  you  as  much  as  you  ought  to  be 
loved,  and  deserve  to  be  in  view  of  all  your  kindness,"  she 
tried  to  explain.  "  I  feel  I  ought  to  be  very  truthful  and 


A    MARRIAGE  f  59 

not  deceive  you  in  the  least,  as  I  know  you  would  not  de- 
ceive me."  So  strong  a  shiver  passed  through  his  frame 
that  she  exclaimed,  "You  are  taking  cold  or  you  don't  feel 
well." 

"  Oh,  it's  nothing,"  he  said,  hastily,  "only  the  night  air ; 
and  then  a  fellow  always  feels  a  little  nervous,  I  suppose, 
when  he's  asking  for  something  on  which  his  happiness  de- 
pends. I'm  satisfied  with  such  feeling  and  goodwill  as  you 
have  for  me  and  will  be  only  too  glad  to  get  you  just  as  you 
are.  Come,  before  it  is  too  late  in  the  evening." 

"  Is  your  heart  bent  on  this,  after  what  I  have  said, 
Wilson?" 

"  Yes,  yes  indeed,"  clasping  her  hand  and  drawing  her  to 
her  feet. 

"  It  would  seem  very  ungrateful  in  me  to  refuse,  after  all 
you  have  done  for  me  and  mother,  if  you  think  it's  right 
and  best.  Will  you  go  to  the  minister  whose  church  I 
attended,  and  who  came  to  see  mother?" 

"  Certainly,  any  one  you  like,"  and  he  put  her  hand  on 
his  arm  and  led  her  away. 

The  clergyman  listened  sympathetically  to  her  brief  his- 
tory of  Ostrom's  kindness,  then  performed  a  simple  cere- 
mony which  his  wife  and  daughters  witnessed.  As  they 
were  about  to  depart  he  said,  "  I  will  send  you  a  certificate." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  to  do  that,"  said  the  groom. 
"  I'll  call  for  it  some  evening  soon." 

Never  had  she  seen  Ostrom  in  such  gay  spirits  as  on  their 
return;  and,  womanlike,  she  was  happy  chiefly  because  she 
had  made  him  happy.  She  also  felt  a  glad  sense  of  security. 
Her  mother's  dying  wish  had  been  fulfilled;  she  had  now 
a  protector,  and  would  soon  have  a  home  instead  of  a  board- 
ing-place among  strangers. 

Her  husband  speedily  found  the  rooms  to  which  the 
reader  has  been  introduced.  The  street  on  which  they  were 
located  was  no  thoroughfare.  Its  further  end  was  closed 
by  a  fence  and  beyond  were  fields.  With  the  exception  of 
those  who  dwelt  upon  it  or  had  business  with  the  residents, 


HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

few  people  came  thither.  To  this  locality,  Ostrom  brought 
his  bride,  and  selected  rooms  whose  windows  were  above 
those  of  the  surrounding  houses.  So  far  from  regretting 
this  isolation  and  remoteness  from  the  central  life  of  the 
town.  Alida's  feelings  sanctioned  his  choice.  The  sense  of 
possessing  security  and  a  refuge  was  increased,  and  it  was  as 
natural  for  her  to  set  about  making  the  rooms  homelike  as  it 
was  to  breathe.  Her  husband  appeared  to  have  exhausted 
his  tendencies  toward  close  economy  in  the  choice  of  apart- 
ments, and  she  was  given  more  money  than  she  desired  with 
which  to  furnish  and  decorate.  He  said,  "  Fix  everything 
up  to  suit  your  mind  and  I'll  be  satisfied." 

This  she  did  with  such  skill,  taste  and  good  management 
that  she  returned  a  large  portion  of  the  sum  he  had  given 
her,  whereupon  he  laughingly  remarked  that  she  had  al- 
ready saved  more  than  she  owed  him.  He  seemed  disinclined 
to  accompany  her  in  the  selection  of  their  simple  outfit,  but 
professed  himself  so  pleased  with  her  choice  of  everything 
that  she  was  gratified  and  happy  in  the  thought  of  relieving 
him  from  trouble. 

Thus  their  married  life  began  under  what  appeared  to 
her  the  most  promising  and  congenial  circumstances.  She 
soon  insisted  on  having  work  again,  and  her  busy  fingers  did 
much  to  increase  his  income. 

Alida  was  not  an  exacting  woman  and  recognized  from 
the  beginning  that  her  husband  would  naturally  have  peculiar 
ways  of  his  own.  Unlike  Mrs.  Mumpson,  she  never  expa- 
tiated on  "  adaptation,"  but  Ostrom  soon  learned,  with  much 
inward  relief,  that  his  wife  would  accept  unquestioningly 
what  appeared  to  be  his  habits  and  preferences.  He  went 
early  to  his  place  of  work,  taking  the  nice  little  lunch  which 
she  prepared,  and  returned  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  when 
he  always  found  a  warm  dinner  in  readiness.  After  this,  he 
was  ready  enough  to  walk  with  her,  but,  as  before,  chose  the 
least-frequented  streets.  Places  of  amusement  and  resort 
seemed  distasteful.  On  Sundays,  he  enjoyed  a  ramble  in 
the  country  as  long  as  the  season  permitted,  and  then  showed 


A    MARRIAGE  f  61 

a  great  disinclination  to  leave  the  fireside.  For  a  time,  he 
went  with  her  in  the  evening  to  church,  but  gradually  per- 
suaded her  to  remain  at  home  and  read  or  talk  to  him. 

His  wife  felt  that  she  had  little  cause  to  complain  of  his 
quiet  ways  and  methodical  habits.  He  had  exhibited  them 
before  marriage  and  they  were  conducive  to  her  absolute 
sense  of  proprietorship  in  him — an  assurance  so  dear  to  a 
woman's  heart.  The  pleasures  of  his  home  and  her  society 
appeared  to  be  all  that  he  craved.  At  times,  she  had  won- 
dered a  little  at  a  certain  air  of  apprehensiveness  in  his 
manner  when  steps  were  heard  upon  the  stairs,  but  as  the 
quiet  days  and  weeks  passed,  such  manifestations  of  ner- 
vousness ceased.  Occasionally,  he  would  start  violently  and 
mutter  strange  words  in  his  sleep,  but  nothing  disturbed  the 
growing  sense  of  security  and  satisfaction  in  Alida's  heart. 
The  charm  of  a  regular,  quiet  life  grows  upon  one  who  has 
a  nature  fitted  for  it,  and  this  was  true  to  an  unusual  degree 
of  Alida  Ostrom.  Her  content  was  also  increased  by  the 
fact  that  her  husband  was  able  each  month  to  deposit  a 
goodly  portion  of  their  united  earnings  in  a  savings  bank. 

Every  day,  every  week,  was  so  like  the .  preceding  ones 
that  it  seemed  as  if  their  happy  life  might  go  on  forever. 
She  was  gladly  conscious  that  there  was  more  than  gratitude 
and  good-will  in  her  heart.  She  now  cherished  a  deep 
affection  for  her  husband  and  felt  that  he  had  become  essen- 
tial to  her  life. 

"  Oh,  how  happy  mother  would  be  if  she  knew  how  safe 
and  protected  I  am,"  she  murmured  one  March  evening,  as 
she  was  preparing  her  husband's  dinner.  "  Leaving  me 
alone  in  the  world  was  far  worse  to  her  than  dying." 

At  that  very  moment  a  gaunt-looking  woman,  with  a  child 
in  her  arms,  stood  in  the  twilight  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  looking  up  at  the  windows. 


62  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER  VH 

FROM   HOME   TO   THE   STREET 

AS  the  shadows  of  the  gloomy  March  evening  deepened, 
Alida  lighted  the  lamp  and  was  then  a  little  surprised 
to  hear  a  knock  at  the  door.  No  presentiment  of 
trouble  crossed  her  mind;  she  merely  thought  that  one  of 
her  neighbors  on  the  lower  floors  had  stepped  up  to  borrow 
something. 

"  Come  in,"  she  cried,  as  she  adjusted  the  shade  of  the 
lamp. 

A  tall,  thin,  pale  woman  entered,  carrying  a  child  that 
was  partly  hidden  by  a  thin  shawl,  their  only  outer  protec- 
tion against  the  chill  winds  which  had  been  blustering  all 
day.  Alida  looked  at  the  stranger  inquiringly  and  kindly, 
expecting  an  appeal  for  charity.  The  woman  sank  into  a 
chair  as  if  exhausted,  and  fixed  her  dark,  hollow  eyes  on  Mrs. 
Ostrom.  She  appeared  consumed  by  a  terrible  curiosity. 

Alida  wondered  at  the  strange  chill  of  apprehension  with 
which  she  encountered  this  gaze.  It  was  so  intent,  so  search- 
ing, yet  so  utterly  devoid  of  a  trace  of  goodwill.  She 
began  gently,  "Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ?" 

For  a  moment  or  two  longer  there  was  no  response  other 
than  the  same  cold,  questioning  scrutiny,  as  if,  instead  of  a 
sweet-faced  woman,  something  monstrously  unnatural  were 
present.  At  last,  in  slow,  icy  utterance,  came  the  words, 
"  So  you  are — her." 

"  Is  the  woman  insane  ?"  thought  Alida.  "  Why  else 
does  she  look  at  me  so  ?  Oh,  that  Wilson  would  come !  I'm 


FROM   HOME    TO    THE  STREET  63 

sorry  for  you,  my  good  woman,"  she  began  kindly.  "  You 
are  laboring  under  some  mistake.  My  husband — " 

"  Your  husband !"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  with  an  inde- 
scribable accent  of  scorn  and  reproach. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Alida  with  quiet  dignity.  "  My  hus- 
band will  be  home  soon  and  he  will  protect  me.  You  have 
no  right  to  enter  my  rooms  and  act  as  you  do.  If  you  are 
sick  and  in  trouble,  I  and  my  husband — " 

"  Please  tell  me  miss,  how  he  became  your  husband  ?" 

"  By  lawful  marriage,  by  my  pastor." 

"  We'll  soon  see  how  lawful  it  was,"  replied  the  woman, 
with  a  bitter  laugh.  "  I'd  like  you  to  tell  me  how  often  a 
man  .can  be  married  lawfully." 

''What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Alida,  with  a  sudden  flash 
in  her  blue  eyes.  Then,  as  if  reproaching  herself,  she  added 
kindly,  "  Pardon  me.  I  see  you  are  not  well.  You  do  not 
realize  what  you  are  saying  or  where  you  are.  Take  a  seat 
nearer  the  fire,  and  when  Mr.  Ostrom  comes  from  his  work 
he'll  take  you  to  your  friends." 

All  the  while  she  was  speaking  the  woman  regarded  her 
with  a  hard,  stony  gaze;  then  replied,  coldly  and  decisively, 
"  You  are  wrong,  miss" — how  that  title  grated  on  Alida'a 
ears! — "I  am  neither  insane  nor  drunk.  I  do  know  what 
I  am  saying  and  where  I  am.  You  are  playing  a  bold  game 
or  else  you  have  been  deceived,  and  very  easily  deceived 
too.  They  say  some  women  are  so  eager  to  be  married  that 
they  ask  no  questions,  but  jump  at  the  first  chance. 
Whether  deceived  or  deceiving,  it  doesn't  matter  now.  But 
you  and  he  shall  learn  that  there  is  a  law  in  the  land  which 
will  protect  an  honest  woman  in  her  sacred  rights.  You 
needn't  look  so  shocked  and  bewildered.  You  are  not  a 
young,  giddy  girl  if  I  may  judge  from  your  face.  What 
else  could  you  expect  when  you  took  up  with  a  stranger  you 
knew  nothing  about  ?  Do  you  know  that  likeness  ?"  and  she 
drew  from  her  bosom  a  daguerreotype. 

Alida  waved  it  away  as  she  said  indignantly,  "I  won't 
believe  ill  of  my  husband.  I — " 


64  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"  No,  miss,"  interrupted  the  woman,  sternly,  "you  are 
right  for  once.  You  won't  indeed  believe  ill  of  your  hus- 
band, but  you'll  have  to  believe  ill  of  mine.  There's  no  use 
of  your  putting  on  such  airs  any  longer.  No  matter  how  rash 
and  silly  you  may  have  been,  if  you  have  a  spark  of  hon- 
esty you'll  be  open  to  proof.  If  you  and  he  try  to  brazen 
it  out  the  law  will  open  both  your  eyes.  Look  at  that  like- 
ness, look  at  these  letters;  and  I  have  other  proof  and  wit- 
nesses which  can't  be  disputed.  The  name  of  the  man  you 
are  living  with  is  not  Wilson  Ostrom.  His  name  is  Henry 
Ferguson.  I  am  Mrs.  Ferguson,  and  I  have  my  marriage 
certificate,  and — what!  are  you  going  to  faint?  Well,  I 
can  wait  till  you  recover  and  till  he  comes,"  and  she  coolly 
sat  down  again. 

Alida  had  glanced  at  the  proofs  which  the  woman  had 
thrust  into  her  hands,  then  staggered  back  to  a  lounge  that 
stood  near.  She  might  have  fainted,  but  at  that  awful 
moment  she  heard  a  familiar  step  on  the  stairs.  She  was 
facing  the  door;  the  terrible  stranger  sat  at  one  side,  with 
her  back  toward  it. 

When  Ostrom  entered  he  first  saw  Alida  looking  pale  and 
ill.  He  hastened  toward  her  exclaiming,  "Why,  Lida,  dear, 
what  is  the  matter  ?  You  are  sick !" 

Instinctively  she  sprang  to  his  arms,  crying,  "Oh,  thank 
God !  you've  come.  Take  away  this  awful  woman." 

"  Yes,  Henry  Ferguson,  it's  very  proper  you  should  take 
me  away  from  a  place  like  this." 

As  the  man  who  had  called  himself  Wilson  Ostrom  heard 
that  voice  he  trembled  like  an  aspen;  his  clasp  of  Alida 
relaxed,  his  arms  dropped  to  his  side  and,  as  he  sank  into  a 
chair  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  he  groaned, 
"  Lost." 

"  Found  out,  you  mean,"  was  the  woman's  reply. 

Step  by  step,  with  horror-stricken  eyes,  Alida  retreated 
from  the  man  to  whose  protection  and  embrace  she  had 
flown.  "Then  it's  true  ?"  she  said  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

He  was  speechless. 


FROM    HOME    TO    THE  STREET  65 

"  You  are  wilfully  blind  now,  miss,  if  you  don't  see  it's 
true,"  was  the  stranger's  biting  comment. 

Paying  no  heed  to  her,  Alida's  eyes  rested  on  the  man 
whom  she  had  believed  to  be  her  husband.  She  took  an 
irresolute  step  toward  him.  "Speak,  Wilson,"  she  cried. 
"  I  gave  you  my  whole  faith  and  no  one  shall  destroy  it  but 
yourself.  Speak,  explain,  show  me  that  there's  some  hor- 
rible mistake." 

"  Lida,"  said  the  man,  lifting  his  bloodless  face,  "  if  you 
knew  all  the  circumstances — " 

"  She  shall  know  them !"  half  shrieked  the  woman,  as  if 
at  last  stung  to  fury.  "  I  see  that  you  both  hope  to  get 
through  this  affair  with  a  little  high  tragedy,  then  escape  and 
come  together  again  in  some  other  hiding  place.  As  for 
this  creature,  she  can  go  where  she  pleases,  after  hearing  the 
truth ;  but  you,  Henry  Ferguson,  have  got  to  do  your  duty 
by  me  and  your  child  or  go  to  prison. — Let  me  tell  you, 
miss,  that  this  man  was  also  married  to  me  by  a  minister. 
I  have  my  certificate  and  can  produce  witnesses.  There's 
one  little  point  you'll  do  well  to  consider/'  she  continued, 
in  bitter  sarcasm,  "  he  married  me  first.  I  suppose  you  are 
not  so  young  and  innocent  as  not  to  know  where  this  fact 
places  you.  He  courted  and  won  me  as  other  girls  are 
courted  and  married.  He  promised  me  all  that  he  ever 
promised  you.  Then,  when  I  lost  my  rosy  cheeks — when 
I  became  sick  and  feeble  from  child-bearing,  he  deserted 
and  left  me  almost  penniless.  You  needn't  think  you  will 
have  to  take  my  word  for  this.  I  have  proof  enough. — And 
now,  Henry  Ferguson,  I've  a  few  words  for  you  and  then 
you  must  take  your  choice.  You  can't  escape.  I  and  my 
brother  have  tracked  you  here.  You  can't  leave  these  rooms 
without  going  to  prison.  You'd  be  taken  at  the  very  door. 
But  I  give  you  one  more  chance.  If  you  will  promise  be- 
fore God  to  do  your  duty  by  me  and  your  child,  I'll  forgive 
as  far  as  a  wronged  woman  can  forgive.  Neither  I  nor  my 
brother  will  take  proceedings  against  you.  What  this  woman 
will  do  I  don't  know.  If  she  prosecutes  you,  and  you  are 


66  HE   FELL    IN    LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

true  to  me,  I'll  stand  by  you,  but  I  won't  stand  another  false 
step  or  a  false  word  from  you." 

Ferguson  had  again  sunk  into  his  chair,  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands  and  sat  trembling  and  speechless.  Never  for  an 
instant  had  Alida  taken  her  eyes  from  him;  and  now  with 
a  long  wailing  cry,  she  exclaimed,  "Thank  God,  thank  God! 
mother's  dead." 

This  was  now  her  best  consolation.  She  rushed  into  her 
bedchamber,  and  a  moment  later  came  out,  wearing  her  hat 
and  cloak.  Ferguson  started  up  and  was  about  to  speak, 
but  she  silence4  him  by  a  gesture,  and  her  tones  were  sad 
and  stern  as  she  said,  "  Mr.  Ferguson,  from  your  own  man- 
ner more  truly  than  from  this  woman,  I  learn  the  truth. 
You  took  advantage  of  my  misfortunes,  my  sorrow  and 
f riendlessness  to  deceive  me.  You  know  how  false  are  your 
wife's  words  about  my  eagerness  to  be  deceived  and  married. 
But  you  have  nothing  to  fear  from  me.  I  shall  not  prose- 
cute you,  as  she  suggests,  and  I  charge  you  before  God  to  do 
your  duty  by  your  wife  and  child  and  never  to  speak  to  me 
again."  Turning,  she  hastened  toward  the  door. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?"  Ferguson  exclaimed,  seeking  to 
intercept  her. 

She  waived  him  off.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  replied, 
"I've  no  right  to  be  here,"  and  she  fled  down  the  stairway 
and  out  into  the  darkness. 

The  child  had  not  wakened.  It  was  well  that  it  had  not 
looked  upon  such  a  scene  even  in  utter  ignorance  of  its 
meaning. 


HOLCROFTS    VIEW  OF  MATRIMONY  67 


CHAPTEK  VIII 

HOLCEOFT'S  VIEW  OF  MATEIMONY 

HOLCROFT  was  indeed  very  lonely  as  he  drove 
through  the  bare  March  fields  and  leafless  woods  on 
his  way  to  town.  The  sky  had  clouded  again,  like 
his  prospects,  and  he  had  the  dreary  sense  of  desolation  which 
overwhelms  a  quiet,  domestic  man  who  feels  that  his  home 
and  all  to  which  he  clings  is  slipping  from  him.  His  lot  was 
hard  enough  at  best,  and  he  had  a  bitter  sense  of  being  im- 
posed upon  and  wronged  by  Lemuel  Weeks.  It  was  now 
evident  enough  that  the  widow  and  her  daughter  had  been  an 
intolerable  burden  to  his  neighbor  who  had  taken  advantage 
of  his  need  and  induced  him  to  assume  the  burden  through 
false  representations.  To  a  man  of  Holcroft's  simple, 
straightforward  nature,  any  phase  of  trickery  was  intensely 
repugnant,  and  the  fact  that  he  had  been  overreached  in  a 
matter  relating  to  his  dearest  hopes  galled  him  to  the  quick. 
He  possessed  the  strong,  common  sense  of  his  classs ;  his  wife 
had  been  like  him  in  this  respect  and  her  influence  had  in- 
tensified the  trait.  Queer  people  with  abnormal  manners  ex- 
cited his  intense  aversion.  The  most  charitable  view  that  he 
could  take  of  Mrs.  Mumpson  was  that  her  mind — such  as  she 
had — was  unbalanced,  that  it  was  an  impossibility  for  her  to 
see  any  subject  or  duty  in  a  sensible  light  or  its  right  pro- 
portions. Her  course,  so  prejudicial  to  her  own  interests, 
and  her  incessant  and  stilted  talk,  were  proof  to  his  mind 
of  a  certain  degree  of  insanity,  and  he  had  heard  that  peo- 
ple in  this  condition  often  united  to  their  unnatural  ways  a 
wonderful  degree  of  cunning.  Her  child  was  almost  as  un- 


68  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

canny  as  herself  and  gave  him  a  shivering  sense  of  discom- 
fort whenever  he  caught  her  small,  greenish  eyes  fixed  upon 
him. 

"  Yet  she'll  be  the  only  one  who'll  earn  her  salt.  I  don't 
see  how  I'm  going  to  stand  'em — I  don't,  injdeed,  but  sup- 
pose I'll  have  to  for  three  months,  or  else  sell  out  and  clear 
out." 

By  the  time  he  reached  town,  a  cold  rain  had  set  in.  He 
went  at  once  to  the  intelligence  office,  but  could  obtain  no 
girl  for  Mrs.  Mumpson  to  "  superintend,"  nor  any  certain 
promise  of  one.  He  did  not  much  care,  for  he  felt  that 
the  new  plan  was  not  going  to  work.  Having  bartered  all 
his  eggs  for  groceries,  he  sold  the  old  stove  and  bought  a 
new  one,  then  drew  from  the  bank  a  little  ready  money. 
Since  his  butter  was  so  inferior,  he  took  it  to  his  friend  Tom 
Watterly,  the  keeper  of  the  poorhouse. 

Prosperous  Tom  slapped  his  old  friend  on  the  back  and 
said,  "You  look  awfully  glum  and  chop-fallen,  Jim.  Come 
now,  don't  look  at  the  world  as  if  it  was  made  of  tar,  pitch, 
and  turpentine.  I  know  your  luck's  been  hard,  but  you 
make  it  a  sight  harder  by  being  so  set  in  all  your  ways. 
You  think  there's  no  place  to  live  on  God's  earth  but  that 
old  up-and-down-hill  farm  of  yours  that  I  wouldn't  take  as  a 
gift.  Why  man  alive,  there's  a  dozen  things  you  can  turn 
your  hand  to;  but  if  you  will  stay  there,  do  as  other  men 
do.  Pick  out  a  smart,  handy  woman  that  can  make  butter 
yaller  as  gold  that'll  bring  gold,  and  not  such  limpsey- 
slimpsy,  ghostly  looking  stuff  as  you've  brought  me.  Bern' 
it's  you,  I'll  take  it  and  give  as  much  for  it  as  I'd  pay  for 
better,  but  you  can't  run  your  old  ranch  in  this  fashion." 

"  I  know  it,  Tom,"  replied  Holcrof t,  ruefully.  "  I'm  all 
at  sea;  but,  as  you  say,  I'm  set  in  my  ways,  and  I'd  rather 
live  on  bread  and  milk  and  keep  my  farm  than  make  money 
anywhere  else.  I  guess  I'll  have  to  give  it  all  up,  though,  and 
pull  out,  but  it's  like  rooting  up  one  of  the  old  oaks  in  the 
meadow  lot.  The  fact  is,  Tom,  I've  been  fooled  into  one  of 
the  worst  scrapes  I've  got  into  yet." 


HOLCROFTS    VIEW   OF   MATRIMONY  69 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  Tom,  heartily  and  complacently, 
"  you  want  a  practical,  f oresighted  man  to  talk  straight  at 
you  for  an  hour  or  two  and  clear  up  the  fog  you're  in.  You 
study  and  brood  over  little  things  out  there  alone  until  they 
seem  mountains  which  you  can't  get  over  nohow,  when,  if 
you'd  take  one  good  jump  out,  they'd  be  behind  you.  Now, 
you've  got  to  stay  and  take  a  bite  with  me,  and  then  we'll 
light  our  pipes  and  untangle  this  snarl.  No  backing  out. 
I  can  do  you  more  good  than  all  the  preachin'  you  ever 
heard. — Hey,  there,  Bill,"  shouting  to  one  of  the  paupers 
who  was  detailed  for  such  work,  "  take  this  team  to  the 
barn  and  feed  'em. — Come  in,  come  in,  old  feller.  You'll 
find  that  Tom  Watterly  allus  has  a  snack  and  a  good  word 
for  an  old  crony." 

Holcroft  was  easily  persuaded,  for  he  felt  the  need  of 
cheer,  and  he  looked  up  to  Tom  as  a  very  sagacious,  practi- 
cal man.  So  he  said,  "  Perhaps  you  can  see  further  into  a 
millstone  than  I  can,  and  if  you  can  show  me  a  way  out  of 
my  difficulties  you'll  be  a  friend  sure  enough." 

"  Why  of  course  I  can.  Your  difficulties  are  all  here  and 
here,"  touching  his  bullet  head  and  the  region  of  his  heart. 
"  There  ain't  no  great  difficulties  in  fact,  but,  after  you've 
brooded  out  there  a  week  or  two  alone,  you  think  you're 
caught  as  fast  as  if  you  were  in  a  bear-trap. — Here,  Angy," 
addressing  his  wife,  "  I've  coaxed  Holcroft  to  take  supper 
with  us.  You  can  hurry  it  up  a  little,  can't  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Watterly  gave  their  guest  a  cold,  limp  hand  and  a 
rather  frigid  welcome.  But  this  did  not  disconcert  him. 
"  It's  only  her  way,"  he  had  always  thought.  "  She  looks 
after  her  husband's  interests  as  mine  did  for  me,  and  she 
don't  talk  him  to  death." 

This  thought,  in  the  main,  summed  up  Mrs.  Watterly's 
best  traits.  She  was  a  commonplace,  narrow,  selfish  woman, 
whose  character  is  not  worth  sketching.  Tom  stood  a  little 
in  fear  of  her,  and  was  usually  careful  not  to  impose  extra 
tasks,  but  since  she  helped  him  to  save  and  get  ahead,  he 
regarded  her  as  a  model  wife. 


70  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

Holcroft  shared  in  his  opinion  and  sighed  deeply  as  he 
sat  down  to  supper.  "  Ah,  Tom,"  he  said,  "  you're  a  lucky 
man.  You've  got  a  wife  that  keeps  everything  indoors  up 
to  the  mark,  and  gives  you  a  chance  to  attend  to  your  own 
proper  business.  That's  the  way  it  was  with  mine.  I  never 
knew  what  a  lop-sided,  helpless  creature  a  man  was  until  I 
was  left  alone.  You  and  I  were  lucky  in  getting  the  women 
we  did,  but  when  my  partner  left  me,  she  took  all  the  luck 
with  her.  That  ain't  the  worst.  She  took  what's  more  than 
luck  and  money  and  everything.  I  seemed  to  lose  with  her 
my  grit  and  interest  in  most  things.  It'll  seem  foolishness 
to  you,  but  I  can't  take  comfort  in  anything  much  except 
working  that  old  farm  that  I've  worked  and  played  on  ever 
since  I  can  remember  anything.  You're  not  one  of  those 
fools,  Tom,  that  have  to  learn  from  their  own  experience. 
Take  a  bit  from  mine,  and  be  good  to  your  wife  while  you 
can.  I'd  give  all  I'm  worth — I  know  that  ain't  much — if 
I  could  say  some  things  to  my  wife  and  do  some  things  for 
her  that  I  didn't  do." 

Holcroft  spoke  in  the  simplicity  of  a  full  and  remorseful 
heart,  but  he  unconsciously  propitiated  Mrs.  Watterly  in  no 
small  degree.  Indeed,  she  felt  that  he  had  quite  repaid 
her  for  his  entertainment,  and  the  usually  taciturn  woman 
seconded  his  remarks  with  much  emphasis. 

"  Well  now,  Angy,"  said  Tom,  "  if  you  averaged  up  hus- 
bands in  these  parts  I  guess  you'd  find  you  were  faring 
rather  better  than  most  women-folks.  I  let  you  take  the  bit 
in  your  teeth  and  go  your  own  jog  mostly.  Now,  own  up, 
don't  I?" 

"  That  wasn't  my  meaning  exactly,  Tom,"  resumed  Hol- 
croft. "You  and  I  could  well  afford  to  let  our  wives  take 
their  own  jog,  for  they  always  jogged  steady  and  faithful  and 
didn't  need  any  urging  and  guiding.  But  even  a  dumb 
critter  likes  a  good  word  now  and  then  and  a  little  patting 
on  the  back.  It  doesn't  cost  us  anything  and  does  them  a 
sight  of  good.  But  we  kind  of  let  the  chances  slip  by  and 
forget  about  it  until  like  enough  it's  too  late." 


HOLCROFT  S    VIEW   OF   MATRIMONY  71 

"  Well,"  replied  Tom,  with  a  deprecatory  look  at  his  wife, 
"  Angy  don't  take  to  pettin'  very  much.  She  thinks  it's  a 
kind  of  foolishness  for  such  middle-aged  people  as  we're 
getting  to  be." 

"  A  husband  can  show  his  consideration  without  blarney- 
ing," remarked  Mrs.  Watterly,  coldly.  "  When  a  man  takes 
on  in  that  way,  you  may  be  sure  he  wants  something  extra 
to  pay  for  it." 

After  a  little  thought,  Holcroft  said,  "  I  guess  it's  a  good 
way  to  pay  for  it  between  husband  and  wife." 

"  Look  here,  Jim,  since  you're  so  well  up  on  the  matrimo- 
nial question,  why  in  thunder  don't  you  marry  again  ?  That 
would  settle  all  your  difficulties,"  and  Tom  looked  at  his 
friend  with  a  sort  of  wonder  that  he  should  hesitate  to  take 
this  practical,  sensible  course. 

"  It's  very  easy  for  you  to  say,  '  Why  don't  you  marry 
again?'  If  you  were  in  my  place  you'd  see  that  there  are 
things  in  the  way  of  marrying  for  the  sake  of  having  a  good 
buttermaker  and  all  that  kind  of  thing." 

"  Mr.  Watterly  wouldn't  be  long  in  comforting  himself," 
remarked  his  wife.  "  His  advice  to  you  mates  the  course 
he'd  take  mighty  clear." 

"Now,  Angy,"  said  Tom,  reproachfully.  "  Well,"  he 
added,  with  a  grin,  "you're  forewarned.  So  you've  only  to 
take  care  of  yourself  and  not  give  me  a  chance." 

"  The  trouble  is,"  Holcroft  resumed,  "  I  don't  see  how  an 
honest  man  is  going  to  comfort  himself  unless  it  all  comes 
about  in  some  natural  sort  of  way.  I  suppose  there  are 
people  who  can  marry  over  and  over  again,  just  as  easy  as 
they'd  roll  off  a  log.  It  ain't  for  me  to  judge  'em,  and  I 
don't  understand  how  they  do  it.  You  are  a  very  practical 
man,  Tom,  but  just  you  put  yourself  in  my  shoes  and  see 
what  you'd  do.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  know  of  a  woman 
in  the  world  that  I'd  think  of  marrying.  That's  saying 
nothing  against  the  women — there's  lots  too  good  for  me — 
but  I  don't  know  'em  and  I  can't  go  around  and  hunt  'em  up. 
Even  if  I  could,  with  my  shy,  awkward  ways,  I  wouldn't 


72  HE   FELL    IN   LOVB    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

feel  half  so  nervous  starting  out  on  a  bear  hunt.  Here's 
difficulty  right  at  the  beginning.  Supposing  I  found  a  nice, 
sensible  woman,  such  as  I'd  be  willing  to  marry,  there  isn't 
one  chance  in  a  hundred  she'd  look  at  an  old  fellow  like  me. 
Another  difficulty :  Supposing  she  would,  suppose  she  looked 
me  square  in  the  eyes  and  said,  '  So  you  truly  want  a  wife  ?' 
what  in  thunder  would  I  say  then  ?  I  don't  want  a  wife,  I 
want  a  housekeeper,  a  butter-maker,  one  that  would  look 
after  my  interests  as  if  they  were  her  own;  and  if  I  could 
hire  a  woman,  that  would  do  what  I  wish,  I'd  never  think  of 
marrying.  I  can't  tell  a  woman  that  I  love  her  when  I 
don't.  If  I  went  to  a  minister  with  a  woman  I'd  be  deceiv- 
ing him,  and  deceiving  her  and  perjuring  myself  promiscu- 
ously. I  married  once  according  to  law  and  gospel,  and  I 
was  married  through  and  through,  and  I  can'i  do  the  thing 
over  again  in  any  way  that  would  seem  to  me  like  marrying 
at  all.  The  idea  of  me  sitting  by  the  fire  and  wishing  that 
the  woman  who  sat  on  the  t'other  side  of  the  stove  was  my 
first  wife !  Yet  I  couldn't  help  doing  this  any  more  than 
breathing.  Even  if  there  was  any  chance  of  my  succeed- 
ing I  can't  see  anything  square  or  honest  in  my  going  out 
and  hunting  up  a  wife  as  a  mere  matter  of  business.  I 
know  other  people  do  it  and  I've  thought  a  good  deal  about 
it  myself,  but  when  it  comes  to  the  point  of  acting  I  find  I 
can't  do  it." 

The  two  men  now  withdrew  from  the  table  to  the  fireside 
and  lighted  their  pipes.  Mrs.  Watterly  stepped  out  for  a 
moment  and  Tom,  looking  over  his  shoulder  to  make  sure 
she  was  out  of  ear-shot,  said  under  his  breath,  "  But  suppose 
you  found  a  woman  that  you  could  love  and  obey,  and  all 
that?" 

"  Oh,  of  course,  that  would  make  everything  different. 
I  wouldn't  begin  with  a  lie  then,  and  I  know  enough  of  my 
wife  to  feel  sure  that  she  wouldn't  be  a  sort  of  dog  in  the 
manger  after  she  was  dead.  She  was  one  of  those  good 
souls  that  if  she  could  speak  her  mind  this  minute  she  would 
say,  l  James,  what's  best  and  right  for  you  is  best  and  right.' 


HOLCROFT'S    VIEW   OF   MATRIMONY  73 

But  it's  just  because  she  was  such  a  good  wife  that  I  know 
there's  no  use  of  trying  to  put  any  one  in  her  place.  Where 
on  earth  could  I  find  anybody,  and  how  could  we  get  ac- 
quainted so  that  we'd  know  anything  about  each  other  ?  No, 
I  must  just  scratch  along  for  a  short  time  as  things  are  and 
be  on  the  lookout  to  sell  or  rent." 

Tom  smoked  meditatively  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
remarked,  "  I  guess  that's  your  best  way  out." 

"  It  ain't  an  easy  way,  either,"  said  Holcroft.  "  Finding 
a  purchaser  or  tenant  for  a  farm  like  mine  is  almost  as  hard 
as  finding  a  wife.  Then,  as  I  feel,  leaving  my  place  is  next 
to  leaving  the  world." 

Tom  shook  his  head  ruefully  and  admitted,  "  I  declare, 
Jim,  when  a  feller  comes  to  think  it  all  over,  you  are  in  a 
bad  fix,  especially  as  you  feel.  I  thought  I  could  talk  you 
over  into  practical,  common-sense  in  no  time.  It's  easy 
enough,  when  one  don't  know  all  the  bearin's  of  a  case,  to 
think  carelessly,  'Oh,  he  ain't  as  bad  off  as  he  thinks  he  is. 
He  can  do  this  and  that  and  the  t'other  thing.'  But  when 
you  come  to  look  it  all  over,  you  find  he  can't,  except  at  a 
big  loss.  Of  course,  you  can  give  away  your  farm  on  which 
you  were  doing  well  and  getting  ahead,  though  how  you  did 
it,  I  don't  see.  You'd  have  to  about  give  it  away  if  you 
forced  a  sale,  and  where  on  earth  you'll  find  a  tenant  who'll 
pay  anything  worth  considering — but  there's  no  use  of  croak- 
ing. I  wish  I  could  help  you,  old  feller.  By  jocks!  I 
believe  I  can.  There's  an  old  woman  here  who's  right  smart 
and  handy  when  she  can't  get  her  bottle  filled.  I  believe 
she'd  be  glad  to  go  with  you,  for  she  don't  like  our  board 
and  lodging  over  much." 

"  Do  you  think  she'd  go  to-night  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  guess  so.  A  little  cold  water'll  be  a  good 
change  for  her." 

Mrs.  Wiggins  was  seen,  and,  feeling  that  any  change 
would  be  for  the  better,  readily  agreed  to  go  for  very  mod- 
erate wages.  Holcroft  looked  dubiously  at  the  woman's 
heavy  form  and  heavier  face,  but  felt  that  it  was  the  best 
_  XVIII 


74  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

he  could  do.  Squeezing  Mrs.  Watterly's  cold,  limp  hand 
in  a  way  that  would  have  thawed  a  lump  of  ice,  he  said 
"  good-by" ;  and  then  declaring  that  he  would  rather  do  his 
own  harnessing  for  a  night  ride,  he  went  out  into  the  storm. 
Tom  put  on  his  rubber  coat  and  went  to  the  barn  with  his 
friend,  toward  whom  he  cherished  honest  good-will. 

"  By  jocks !"  he  ejaculated,  sympathetically,  "  but  you 
have  hard  lines,  Jim.  What  in  thunder  would  I  do  with  two 
such  widdy  women  to  look  after  my  house !" 


MRS.  MUMPSON  ACCEPTS  HER  MISSION  75 


CHAPTER    IX 

MES.    MUMPSON    ACCEPTS    HEB    MISSION 

AS  Holcroft  drove  through  the  town,  Mrs.  Wiggins,  who, 
as  matters  were  explained  to  her,  had  expressed  her 
views  chiefly  by  affirmative  nods,  now  began  to  use 
her  tongue  with  much  fluency. 

"  Hi  'ave  a  friend  'ereabouts,"  she  said,  "  an'  she's  been 
a  keepin'  some  of  my  things.  Hi'll  be  be'olden  to  ye,  mas- 
ter, hif  ye'll  jes  stop  a  bit  hat  the  door  whiles  hi  gets  'em. 
Hif  ye'll  hadvance  me  a  dollar  or  so  on  me  wages  hit'll  be 
a  long  time  hafore  I  trouble  ye  hagain." 

The  farmer  had  received  too  broad  a  hint  not  to  know 
that  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  intent  on  renewing  her  acquaintance 
with  her  worst  enemy.  He  briefly  replied,  therefore,  "  It's 
too  late  to  stop  now.  I'll  be  coming  down  soon  again  and 
will  get  your  things." 

In  vain  Mrs.  Wiggins  expostulated,  for  he  drove  steadily 
on.  With  a  sort  of  grim  humor,  he  thought  of  the  meeting 
of  the  two  "  widdy  women,"  as  Tom  had  characterized  them, 
and  of  Mrs.  Mumpson's  dismay  at  finding  in  the  "  cheap 
girl  "  a  dame  of  sixty,  weighing  not  far  from  two  hundred. 
"  If  it  wasn't  such  awfully  serious  business  for  me,"  he 
thought,  "  it  would  be  better'n  going  to  a  theatre  to  see  the 
two  go  on.  If  I  haven't  got  three  '  peculiar  females '  on 
my  hands  now,  I'd  like  to  hear  of  the  man  that  has." 

When  Mrs.  Wiggins  found  she  could  not  gain  her  point, 
she  subsided  into  utter  silence.  It  soon  became  evident  in 
the  cloudy  light  of  the  moon  that  she  was  going  to  sleep,  for 


76  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

she  so  nodded  and  swayed  about  that  the  farmer  feared  she 
would  tumble  out  of  the  wagon.  She  occupied  a  seat  just 
back  of  his  and  filled  it,  too.  The  idea  of  stepping  over, 
sitting  beside  her  and  holding  her  in,  was  inexpressibly  re- 
pugnant to  him.  So  he  began  talking  to  her,  and  finally 
shouting  at  her,  to  keep  her  awake. 

His  efforts  were  useless.  He  glanced  with  rueful  dismay 
over  his  shoulder  as  he  thought,  "  If  she  falls  out,  I  don't 
see  how  on  earth  I'll  ever  get  her  back  again." 

Fortunately,  the  seat  slipped  back  a  little  and  she  soon 
slid  down  into  a  sort  of  mountainous  heap  on  the  bottom  of 
the  wagon,  as  unmindful  of  the  rain  as  if  it  were  a  lullaby. 
Now  that  his  mind  was  at  rest  about  her  falling  out,  and 
knowing  that  he  had  a  heavy  load,  Holcroft  let  the  horses 
take  their  own  time  along  the  miry  highway. 

Left  to  her  own  devices  by  Holcroft's  absence,  Mrs. 
Mumpson  had  passed  what  she  regarded  as  a  very  eventful 
afternoon  and  evening.  Not  that  anything  unusual  had 
happened,  unless  everything  she  said  and  did  may  be  looked 
upon  as  unusual;  but  Mrs.  Mumpson  justly  felt_that  the 
critical  periods  of  life  are  those  upon  which  definite  courses 
of  action  are  decided  upon.  In  the  secret  recesses  of  her 
heart — supposing  her  to  possess  such  an  organ — she  had 
partially  admitted  to  herself,  even  before  she  had  entered 
Holcroft's  door,  that  she  might  be  persuaded  into  marrying 
him;  but  the  inspection  of  his  room,  much  deliberate 
thought,  and  prolonged  soliloquy,  had  convinced  her  that 
she  ought  to  "  enter  into  nuptial  relations  "  as  her  thought 
formulated  itself.  It  was  a  trait  of  Mrs.  Mumpson's  active 
mind  that  when  it  once  entered  upon  a  line  of  thought  it 
was  hurried  along  from  conclusion  to  conclusion  with  won- 
derful rapidity. 

While  Jane  made  up  Mr.  Holcroft's  bed,  her  mother  be- 
gan to  inspect,  and  soon  suffered  keenly  from  a  very  painful 
discovery.  The  farmer's  meagre  wardrobe  and  other  be- 
longings were  soon  rummaged  over,  but  one  large  closet  and 
several  bureau  drawers  were  locked.  "  These  are  the  recep- 


MRS.   MUMPSON   ACCEPTS   HER   MISSION  77 

tercles  of  the  deceased  Mrs.  Holcroft's  affects,"  she  said  with 
compressed  lips.  "  They  are  mouldering  useless  away.  Moth 
and  rust  will  enter,  while  I,  the  caretaker,  am  debarred.  I 
should  not  be  debarred.  All  the  things  in  that  closet  should 
be  shaken  out,  aired,  and  carefully  put  back.  Who  knows 
how  useful  they  may  be  in  the  future!  Waste  is  wicked. 
Indeed,  there  are  few  things  more  wicked  than  waste.  Now 
I  think  of  it,  I  have  some  keys  in  my  trunk." 

"  He  won't  like  it,"  interposed  Jane. 

"  In  the  responserble  persition  I  have  assumed,"  replied 
Mrs.  Mumpson,  with  dignity,  "  I  must  consider,  not  what  he 
wants,  but  what  is  best  for  him  and  what  may  be  best  for 
others." 

Jane  had  too-  much  curiosity  herself  to  make  further  ob- 
jection and  the  keys  were  brought.  .  It  was  astonishing  what 
a  number  of  keys  Mrs.  Mumpson  possessed,  and  she  was 
not  long  in  finding  those  which  would  open  the  ordinary 
locks  thought  by  Holcroft  to  be  ample  protection. 

"  I  was  right,"  said  Mrs.  Mumpson,  complacently.  "  A 
musty  odor  exudes  from  these  closed  receptercles.  Men 
have  no  comprehension  of  the  need  of  such  caretakers  as 
I  am." 

Everything  that  had  ever  belonged  to  poor  Mrs.  Hol- 
croft was  pulled  out,  taken  to  the  window  and  examined,  Jane 
following,  as  usual,  in  the  wake  of  her  mother  and  putting 
everything  to  the  same  tests  which  her  parent  applied. 
Mrs.  Holcroft  had  been  a  careful  woman,  and  the  extent  and 
substantial  character  of  her  wardrobe  proved  that  her  hu3- 
band  had  not  been  close  in  his  allowances  to  her.  Mrs. 
Mumpson's  watery-blue  eyes  grew  positively  animated  as 
she  felt  of  and  held  up  to  the  light  one  thing  after  another. 
"  Mrs.  Holcroft  was  evidently  unnaturally  large,"  she  re- 
flected aloud,  "  but  then  these  things  could  be  made  over, 
and  much  material  be  left  to  repair  them,  from  time  to  time. 
The  dresses  are  of  sombre  colors,  becoming  to  a  lady  some- 
what advanced  in  years,  and  of  subdued  taste." 

By  the  time  that  the  bed  and  all  the  chairs  in  the  room 


78 

were  littered  with  wearing  apparel,  Mrs.  Mumpson  said, 
"  Jane,  I  desire  you  to  bring  the  rocking-chair.  So  many 
thoughts  are  crowding  upon  me  that  I  must  sit  down  and 
think." 

Jane  did  as  requested,  but  remarked,  "  The  sun  is  gettin* 
low,  and  all  these  things'll  have  to  be  put  back  just  as  they 
was  or  he'll  be  awful  mad." 

"  Yes,  Jane,"  replied  Mrs.  Mumpson  abstractedly  and 
rocking  gently,  "  you  can  put  them  back.  Your  mind  is  not 
burdened  like  mine,  and  you  haven't  offspring  and  the  future 
to  provide  for,"  and  for  a  wonder,  she  relapsed  into  silence. 
Possibly  she  possessed  barely  enough  of  womanhood  to  feel 
that  her  present  train  of  thought  had  better  be  kept  to  her- 
self. She  gradually  rocked  faster  and  faster,  thus  indicating 
that  she  was  rapidly  approaching  a  conclusion. 

Meanwhile,  Jane  was  endeavoring  to  put  things  back  as 
they  were  before  and  found  it  no  easy  task.  As  the  light  de- 
clined, she  was  overcome  by  a  sort  of  panic,  and,  huddling 
the  things  into  the  drawers  as  fast  as  possible,  she  locked 
them  up.  Then,  seizing  her  mother's  hand  and  pulling  the 
abstracted  woman  to  her  feet,  she  cried,  "  If  he  comes  and 
finds  us  here  and  no  supper  ready  he'll  turn  us  right  out 
into  the  rain." 

Even  Mrs.  Mumpson  felt  that  she  was  perhaps  reaching 
conclusions  too  fast  and  that  some  diplomacy  might  be  nec- 
essary to  consummate  her  plans.  Her  views,  however,  ap- 
peared to  her  so  reasonable  that  she  scarcely  thought  of 
failure,  having  the  happy  faculty  of  realizing  everything 
in  advance  whether  it  ever  took  place  or  not. 

As  she  slowly  descended  the  stairs  with  the  rocking-chair, 
she  thought,  "  Nothing  could  be  more  suiterble.  We  are 
both  about  the  same  age;  I  am  most  respecterbly  connected 
— in  fact,  I  regard  myself  as  somewhat  his  superior  in  this 
respect — he  is  painfully  undeveloped  and  irreligious  and 
thus  is  in  sore  need  of  female  influence  ;  he  is  lonely  and 
down-hearted,  and  in  woman's  voice  there  is  a  spell  to  banish 
care;  worst  of  all,  things  are  going  to  waste.  I  must  de- 


MRS.   MUMPSON    ACCEPTS   HER    MISSION  79 

lib'rately  face  the  great  duty  with  which  Providence  has 
brought  me  face  to  face.  At  first,  he  may  be  a  little  blind 
to  this  great  oppertunity  of  his  life — that  I  must  expect, 
remembering  the  influence  he  was  under  so  many  years — 
but  I  will  be  patient,  and  by  the  proper  use  of  language,  place 
everything  eventually  before  him  in  a  way  that  will  cause 
him  to  yield  in  glad  submission  to  my  views  of  the  duties, 
the  priviliges  and  the  responserbilities  of  life." 

So  active  was  Mrs.  Mumpson's  mind  that  this  train  of 
thought  was  complete  by  the  time  she  had  ensconced  her- 
self in  the  rocking-chair  by  the  fireless  kitchen  stove.  Once 
more  Jane  seized  her  hand  and  dragged  her  up.  "  You 
must  help,"  said  the  child.  "  I  spect  him  every  minnit 
and  I'm  scart  half  to  death  to  think  what  he'll  do,  'specially 
if  he  finds  out  we've  been  rummagin'." 

"  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Mumpson,  severely,  "  that  is  not  a 
proper  way  of  expressing  yourself.  I  am.  housekeeper  here, 
and  I've  been  inspecting." 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  you've  been  inspectin'  ?"  asked  the 
girl,  keenly. 

"  Children  of  your  age  should  speak  when  they  are 
spoken  to,"  replied  her  mother,  still  more  severely.  "  You 
cannot  comprehend  my  motives  and  duties,  and  I  should 
have  to  punish  you  if  you  passed  any  remarks  upon  my 
actions." 

"  Well,"  said  Jane,  apprehensively,  "  I  only  hope  we'll 
soon  have  a  chance  to  fix  up  them  drawers,  for  if  he  should 
open  'em  we'd  have  to  tramp  again,  and  we  will  anyway  if 
you  don't  help  me  get  supper." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Jane,"  responded  Mrs.  Mumpson, 
with  dignity.  "  We  shall  not  leave  this  roof  for  three 
months  and  that  will  give  me  ample  time  to  open  his  eyes 
to  his  true  interests.  I  will  condescend  to  these  menial  tasks 
until  he  brings  a  girl  who  will  yield  the  deference  due  to  my 
years  and  station  in  life." 

Between  them,  after  filling  the  room  with  smoke,  they 
kindled  the  kitchen  fire.  Jane  insisted  on  making  the  cof- 


80  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

fee  and  then  helped  her  mother  to  prepare  the  rest  of 
the  supper,  doing,  in  fact,  the  greater  part  of  the  work. 
Then  they  sat  down  to  wait,  and  they  waited  so  long  that  Mrs. 
Mumpson  began  to  express  her  disapproval  by  rocking  vio- 
lently. At  last,  she  said  severely,  "Jane,  we  will  partake 
of  supper  alone." 

"  I'd  ruther  wait  till  he  comes." 

"  It's  not  proper  that  we  should  wait.  He  is  not  showing 
me  due  respect.  Come,  do  as  I  command." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  indulged  in  lofty  and  aggrieved  remarks 
throughout  the  meal  and  then  returned  to  her  rocker.  At 
last,  her  indignant  sense  of  wrong  reached  such  a  point 
that  she  commanded  Jane  to  clear  the  table  and  put  away 
the  things. 

"  I  won't,"  said  the  child. 

"  What !  will  you  compel  me  to  chastise  you  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  J'll  tell  him  it  was  all  your  doin's." 

"  I  shall  tell  him  so  myself.  I  shall  remonstrate  with 
him.  The  idea  of  his  coming  home  alone  at  this  time  of 
night,  with  an  unknown  female !" 

"  One  would  think  you  was  his  aunt,  to  hear  you  talk," 
remarked  the  girl,  sullenly. 

"  I  am  a  respecterble  woman  and  most  respecterbly  con- 
nected. My  character  and  antercedents  render  me  irre- 
proachful.  This  could  not  be  said  of  a  hussy,  and  a  hussy 
he'll  probably  bring — some  flighty,  immerture  female  that 
will  tax  even  my  patience  to  train." 

Another  hour  passed  and  the  frown  on  Mrs.  Mumpson's 
brow  grew  positively  awful.  "To  think,"  she  muttered, 
"  that  a  man  whom  I  have  deemed  it  my  duty  to  marry 
should  stay  out  so  and  under  such  peculiar  circumstances. 
He  must  have  a  lesson  which  he  can  never  forget."  Then 
aloud,  to  Jane,  "Kindle  a  fire  on  the  parlor  hearth  and  let 
this  fire  go  out.  He  must  find  us  in  the  most  respecterble 
room  in  the  house — a  room  befitting  my  station." 

"  I  declare,  mother,  you  ain't  got  no  sense  at  all,"  ex- 
claimed the  child,  exasperated  beyond  measure. 


MBS.  MUMPSON  ACCEPTS  HER  MISSION  81 

"I'll  teach  you  to  use  such  unrerspectful  language," 
cried  Mrs.  Mumpson,  darting  from  her  chair  like  a  hawk 
and  pouncing  upon  the  unhappy  child. 

With  ears  tingling  from  a  cuffing  she  could  not  soon  for- 
get, Jane  lighted  the  parlor  fire  and  sat  down  sniffling  in 
the  furthest  corner. 

"  There  shall  be  only  one  mistress  in  this  house,"  said 
Mrs.  Mumpson,  who  had  now  reached  the  loftiest  plane  of 
virtuous  indignation,  "  and  its  master  shall  learn  that  his 
practices  reflect  upon  even  me  as  well  as  himself." 

At  last  the  sound  of  horses'  feet  was  heard  on  the  wet, 
oozy  ground  without.  The  irate  widow  did  not  rise,  but 
merely  indicated  her  knowledge  of  Holcroft's  arrival  by 
rocking  more  rapidly. 

"  Hello  there,  Jane,"  he  shouted,  "bring  a  light  to  the 
kitchen." 

"  Jane,  remain,"  said  Mrs.   Mumpson,   with  an  awful 
look. 

Holcroft  stumbled  through  the  dark  kitchen  to  the  parlor 
door  and  looked  with  surprise  at  the  group  before  him — 
Mrs.  Mumpson  apparently  oblivious  and  rocking  as  if  the 
chair  was  possessed,  and  the  child  crying  in  a  corner. 

"  Jane,  didn't  you  hear  me  call  for  a  light  ?"  he  asked  a 
little  sharply. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  rose  with  great  dignity  and  began,  "Mr. 
Holcroft,  I  wish  to  remonstrate — " 

"  Oh,  bother,  I've  brought  a  woman  to  help  you,  and 
we're  both  wet  through  from  this  driving  rain." 

"  You've  brought  a  strange  female  at  this  time  of — " 

Holcroft's  patience  gave  way,  but  he  only  said,  quietly, 
"  You  had  better  have  a  light  in  the  kitchen  within  two  min- 
utes. I  warn  you  both.  I  also  wish  some  hot  coffee." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  had  no  comprehension  of  a  man  who 
could  be  so  quiet  when  he  was  angry,  and  she  believed  that 
she  might  impress  him  with  a  due  sense  of  the  enormity  of 
his  offence.  "  Mr.  Holcroft,  I  scarcely  feel  that  I  can  meet 
a  girl  who  has  no  more  sense  of  decorum  than  to" — but 


82  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

Jane,  striking  a  match,  revealed  the  fact  that  she  was  speak- 
ing to  empty  air. 

Mrs.  Wiggins  was  at  last  so  far  aroused  that  she  was 
helped  from  the  wagon  and  came  shivering  and  dripping 
toward  the  kitchen.  She  stood  a  moment  in  the  doorway 
and  filled  it,  blinking  confusedly  at  the  light.  There  was  an 
absence  of  celerity  in  all  Mrs.  Wiggins's  movements,  and  she 
was  therefore  slow  in  the  matter  of  waking  up.  Her  aspect 
and  proportions  almost  took  away  Mrs.  Mumpson's  breath. 
Here  certainly  was  much  to  superintend,  much  more  than 
had  been  anticipated.  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  undoubtedly  a 
"  peculiar  female,"  as  had  been  expected,  but  she  was  so 
elderly  and  monstrous  that  Mrs.  Mumpson  felt  some  em- 
barrassment in  her  purpose  to  overwhelm  Holcroft  with  a 
sense  of  the  impropriety  of  his  conduct. 

Mrs.  Wiggins  took  uncertain  steps  toward  the  rocking- 
chair,  and  almost  crushed  it  as  she  sat  down.  "  Ye  gives  a 
body  a  cold  velcome,"  she  remarked,  rubbing  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  had  got  out  of  her  way  as  a  minnow 
would  shun  a  leviathan.  "May  I  ask  your  name?"  she 
gasped. 

"  Viggins,  Mrs.  Viggins." 

"  Oh,  indeed  1     You  are  a  married  woman  ?" 

"  No,  hi'm  a  vidder.  What's  more,  hi'm  cold,  an'  drip- 
pin',  an*  'ungry.  Hi  might  'a'  better  staid  at  the  poor-us 
than  come  to  a  place  like  this." 

"  What !"  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Mumpson,  "  are  you  a 
pauper  ?" 

"  Hi  tell  ye  hi'm  a  vidder,  an'  good  as  you  be,  for  hall  he 
said,"  was  the  sullen  reply. 

"  To  think  that  a  respecterbly  connected  woman  like  me  " 
— but  for  once  Mrs.  Mumpson  found  language  inadequate. 
Since  Mrs.  Wiggins  occupied  the  rocking-chair,  she  hardly 
knew  what  to  do  and  plaintively  declared,  "  I  feel  as  if  my 
whole  nervous  system  was  giving  way." 

"  No  'arm  '11  be  done  hif  hit  does,"  remarked  Mrs.  Wig- 
gins, who  was  not  in  an  amiable  mood. 


MRS.  MUMPSON  ACCEPTS  HER  MISSION  83 

"  This  from  the  female  I'm  to  superintend !"  gasped  the 
bewildered  woman. 

Her  equanimity  was  still  further  disturbed  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  farmer,  who  looked  at  the  stove  with  a  heavy 
frown. 

"  Why  in  the  name  of  common-sense  isn't  there  a  fire  ?" 
he  asked,  "  and  supper  on  the  table  ?  Couldn't  you  hear 
that  it  was  raining  and  know  we'd  want  some  supper  after  a 
long,  cold  ride  ?" 

"  Mr.  Holcroft,"  began  the  widow,  in  some  trepidation, 
"  I  don't  approve — such  irregular  habits — " 

"  Madam,"  interrupted  Holcroft,  sternly,  "  did  I  agree  to 
do  what  you  approved  of?  Your  course  is  so  peculiar  that 
I  scarcely  believe  you  are  in  your  right  mind.  You  had 
better  go  to  your  room  and  try  to  recover  your  senses.  If 
I  can't  have  things  in  this  house  to  suit  me  I'll  have  no  one 
in  it. — Here,  Jane,  you  can  help." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  and  de- 
parted. She  felt  that  this  display  of  emotion  would  touch 
Holcroft's  feelings  when  he  came  to  think  the  scene  all 
over. 

Having  kindled  the  fire,  he  said  to  Jane,  "  You  and  Mrs. 
Wiggins  get  some  coffee  and  supper  in  short  order  and  have 
it  ready  when  I  come  in,"  and  he  hastened  out  to  care  for 
his  horses.  If  the  old  woman  was  slow,  she  knew  just  how 
to  make  every  motion  effective,  and  a  good  supper  was  soon 
ready. 

"  Why  didn't  you  keep  up  a  fire,  Jane  ?"  Holcroft  asked. 

"  She  wouldn't  let  me.  She  said  how  you  must  be  taught 
a  lesson,"  replied  the  girl,  feeling  that  she  must  choose  be- 
tween two  potentates,  and  deciding  quickly  in  favor  of  the 
farmer.  She  had  been  losing  faith  in  her  mother's  wisdom 
a  long  time,  and  this  night's  experience  had  banished  the  last 
shred  of  it. 

Some  rather  bitter  words  rose  to  Holcroft's  lips,  but  he 
restrained  them.  He  felt  that  he  ought  not  to  disparage 
the  mother  to  the  child.  As  Mrs.  Wiggins  grew  warm,  and 


84  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

imbibed  the  generous  coffee,  her  demeanor  thawed  percepti- 
bly and  she  graciously  vouchsafed  the  remark,  "  Ven  ye're 
hout  late  hag'in  hi'll  look  hafter  ye." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  had  not  been  so  far  off  as  not  to  hear 
Jane's  explanation,  as  the  poor  child  found  to  her  cost  when 
she  went  up  to  bed. 


A    NIGHT   OF   TERROR  85 


CHAPTER   X 

A    NIGHT    OF    TEEKOE 

AS  poor,  dazed,  homeless  Alida  passed  out  into  the 
street,  after  the  revelation  that  she  was  not  a  wife 
and  never  had  been,  she  heard  a  voice  say,  "  Well, 
Hanner  wasn't  long  in  bouncing  the  woman.  I  guess  we'd 
better  go  up  now.  Ferguson  will  need  a  lesson  that  he  won't 
soon  forget." 

The  speaker  of  these  words  was  Mrs.  Ferguson's  brother, 
William  Hackman,  and  his  companion  was  a  detective.  The 
wife  had  laid  her  still  sleeping  child  down  on  the  lounge 
and  was  coolly  completing  Alida's  preparations  for  dinner. 
Her  husband  had  sunk  back  into  a  chair  and  again  buried 
his  face  in  his  hands.  He  looked  up  with  startled,  blood- 
shot eyes  as  his  brother-in-law  and  the  stranger  entered,  and 
then  resumed  his  former  attitude. 

Mrs.  Ferguson  briefly  related  what  had  happened  and 
then  said,  "  Take  chairs  and  draw  up." 

"I  don't  want  any  dinner,"  muttered  the  husband. 

Mr.  William  Hackman  now  gave  way  to  his  irritation. 
Turning  to  his  brother  he  relieved  his  mind  as  follows,  "  See 
here,  Hank  Ferguson,  if  you  hadn't  the  best  wife  in  the  land, 
this  gentleman  would  now  be  giving  you  a  promenade  to 
jail.  I've  left  my  work  for  weeks,  and  spent  a  sight  of 
money  to  see  that  my  sister  got  her  rights,  and  by  thunder, 
she's  going  to  have  'em.  We've  agreed  to  give  you  a  chance 
to  brace  up  and  be  a  man.  If  we  find  out  there  isn't  any 
man  in  you,  then  you  go  to  prison  and  hard  labor  to  the 


86  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

hull  extent  of  the  law.  We've  fixed  things  so  you  can't 
play  any  more  tricks.  This  man  is  a  private  detective.  As 
long  as  you  do  the  square  thing  by  your  wife  and  child, 
you'll  be  let  alone.  If  you  try  to  sneak  off,  you'll  be  nabbed. 
Now  if  you  ain't  a  scamp  down  to  your  heel-taps,  get  up 
out  of  that  chair  like  a  man,  treat  your  wife  as  she  deserves 
for  letting  you  off  so  easy,  and  don't  make  her  change  her 
mind  by  acting  as  if  you,  and  not  her,  was  the  wronged 
person." 

At  heart,  Ferguson  was  a  weak,  cowardly,  selfish  creat- 
ure, whose  chief  aim  in  life  was  to  have  things  to  suit  him- 
self. When  they  ceased  to  be  agreeable,  he  was  ready  for  a 
change,  without  much  regard  for  the  means  to  his  ends. 
He  had  always  foreseen  the  possibility  of  the  event  which 
had  now  taken  place,  but,  like  all  self-indulgent  natures,  had 
hoped  that  he  might  escape  detection.  Alida,  moreover, 
had  won  a  far  stronger  hold  upon  him  than  he  had  once 
imagined  possible.  He  was  terribly  mortified  and  cast  down 
by  the  result  of  his  experiment,  as  he  regarded  it.  But  the 
thought  of  a  prison  and  hard  labor  speedily  drew  his  mind 
away  from  this  aspect  of  the  affair.  He  had  been  fairly 
caught,  his  lark  was  over,  and  he  soon  resolved  that  the 
easiest  and  safest  way  out  of  the  scrape  was  the  best  way. 
He  therefore  raised  his  head  and  came  forward  with  a  peni- 
tent air,  as  he  said,  "It's  natural  I  should  be  overwhelmed 
with  shame  at  the  position  in  which  I  find  myself.  But  I 
see  the  truth  of  your  words  and  I'll  try  to  make  it  all  right, 
as  far  as  I  can.  I'll  go  back  with  you  and  Hannah  to  my 
old  home.  I've  got  money  in  the  bank,  I'll  sell  out  every 
thing  here,  and  I'll  pay  you,  William,  as  far  as  I  can,  what 
you've  spent.  Hannah  is  mighty  good  to  let  me  off  so  easy 
and  she  won't  be  sorry.  This  man  is  witness  to  what  I  say," 
and  the  detective  nodded. 

"  Why,  Ferguson,"  said  Mr.  Hackman,  effusively,  "  now 
you're  talking  like  a  man. — Come  and  kiss  him,  Hanner, 
and  make  it  all  up." 

"  That's  the  way  with  you  men,"  said  the  woman,  bit- 


A    NIGHT   OF    TERROR  87 

terly.  "  These  things  count  for  little.  Henry  Ferguson 
must  prove  he's  honest  in  what  he  says,  by  deeds,  not  words. 
I'll  do  as  I've  said  if  he  acts  square,  and  that's  enough  to 
start  with." 

"  All  right,"  said  Ferguson,  glad  enough  to  escape  the 
caress.  "I'll  do  as  I  say." 

He  did  do  all  he  promised,  and  very  promptly,  too.  He 
was  not  capable  of  believing  that  a  woman,  wronged  as  Alida 
had  been,  would  not  prosecute  him,  and  he  was  eager  to 
escape  to  another  State,  and,  in  a  certain  measure,  again 
to  hide  his  identity  under  his  own  actual  name. 

Meanwhile,  how  fared  the  poor  creature  who  had  fled, 
driven  forth  by  her  first  wild  impulse  to  escape  from  a  false 
and  terrible  position?  With  every  step  she  took  down  the 
dimly-lighted  street,  the  abyss  into  which  she  had  fallen 
seemed  to  grow  deeper  and  darker.  She. was  overwhelmed 
with  the  magnitude  of  her  misfortune.  She  shunned  the 
illumined  thoroughfare  with  a  half-crazed  sense  that  every 
finger  would  be  pointed  at  her.  Her  final  words,  spoken  to 
Ferguson,  were  the  last  clear  promptings  of  her  womanly 
nature.  After  that,  everything  grew  confused,  except  the 
impression  of  remediless  disaster  and  shame.  She  was  in- 
capable of  forming  any  correct  judgment  concerning  her 
position.  The  thought  of  her  pastor  filled  her  with  horror. 
He,  she  thought,  would  take  the  same  view  which  the 
woman  had  so  brutally  expressed — that  in  her  eagerness  to 
be  married  she  had  brought  to  the  parsonage  an  unknown 
man  and  had  involved  a  clergyman  in  her  own  scandalous 
record.  It  would  all  be  in  the  papers,  and  her  pastor's  name 
mixed  up  in  the  affair.  She  would  rather  die  than  subject 
him  to  such  an  ordeal.  Long  after,  when  he  learned  the 
facts  in  the  case,  he  looked  at  her  very  sadly,  as  he  asked, 
"  Didn't  you  know  me  better  than  that  ?  Had  I  so  failed 
in  my  preaching  that  you  couldn't  come  straight  to  me  2" 

She  wondered  afterward  that  she  had  not  done  this,  but 
she  was  too  morbid,  too  close  upon  absolute  insanity,  to  do 
what  was  wise  and  safe.  She  simply  yielded  to  the  wild 


88  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

impulse  to  escape,  to  cower,  to  hide  from  every  human  eye, 
hastening  through  the  darkest,  obscurest  streets,  not  caring 
where.  In  the  confusion  of  her  mind  she  would  retrace 
her  steps,  and  soon  was  utterly  lost,  wandering  she  knew  not 
whither.  As  it  grew  late,  casual  passers-by  looked  after  her 
curiously,  rough  men  spoke  to  her  and  others  jeered.  She 
only  hastened  on,  driven  by  her  desperate  trouble  like  the 
wild,  ragged  clouds  that  were  flying  across  the  stormy  March 
sky. 

At  last,  a  policeman  said  gruffly,  "  You've  passed  me 
twice.  You  can't  be  roaming  the  streets  at  this  time  of 
night.  Why  don't  you  go  home  ?" 

Standing  before  him  and  wringing  her  hands,  she 
moaned,  "  I  have  no  home !" 

"  Where  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Oh !  I  can't  tell  you.  Take  me  to  any  place  where  a 
woman  will  be  safe." 

"  I  can't  take  you  to  any  place  now  but  the  station- 
house." 

"  But  can  I  be  alone  there  ?  I  won't  be  put  with  any- 
body?" 

"  No,  no,  of  course  not.  You'll  be  better  off  there. 
Come  along.  'Tain't  far." 

She  walked  beside  him  without  a  word. 

"  You'd  better  tell  me  something  of  your  story.  Per- 
haps I  can  do  more  for  you  in  the  morning." 

"  I  can't.  I'm  a  stranger.  I  haven't  any  friends  in 
town." 

"  Well,  well,  the  sergeant  will  see  what  can  be  done  in 
the  morning.  You've  been  up  to  some  foolishness  I  sup- 
pose, and  you'd  better  tell  the  whole  story  to  the  sergeant." 

She  soon  entered  the  station-house  and  was  locked  up  in 
a  narrow  cell.  She  heard  the  grating  of  the  key  in  the  lock 
with  a  sense  of  relief,  feeling  that  she  had  at  least  found  a 
place  of  temporary  refuge  and  security.  A  hard  board  was 
the  only  couch  it  possessed,  but  the  thought  of  sleep  did  not 
enter  her  mind.  Sitting  down,  she  buried  her  face  in  her 


A    NIGHT   OF    TERROR 

hands  and  rocked  back  and  forth  in  agony  and  distraction 
until  day  dawned.  At  last,  some  one — she  felt  she  could 
not  raise  her  eyes  to  his  face — brought  her  some  break- 
fast and  coffee.  She  drank  the  latter,  but  left  the  food  un- 
tasted.  Finally,  she  was  led  to  the  sergeant's  private  room 
and  told  that  she  must  give  an  account  of  herself.  "If  you 
can't  or  won't  tell  a  clear  story,"  the  officer  threatened, 
"you'll  have  to  go  before  the  justice  in  open  cor-t,  and  he 
may  commit  you  to  prison.  If  you'll  tell  the  truth  now,  it 
may  be  that  I  can  discharge  you.  You  had  no  business  to 
be  wandering  about  the  streets  like  a  vagrant  or  worse; 
but  it  you  were  a  stranger  or  lost  and  hadn't  sense  enough  to 
go  where  you'd  be  cared  for,  I  can  let  you  go." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Alida,  again  wringing  her  hands  and  looking 
at  the  officer  with  eyes  so  full  of  misery  and  fear  that  he 
began  to  soften,  "  I  don't  know  where  to  go." 

"Haven't  you  a  friend  or  acquaintance  in  town  ?" 

"  Not  one  that  I  can  go  to  !" 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  me  your  story  ?  Then  I'll  know 
what  to  do,  and  perhaps  can  help  you.  You  don't  look  like 
a  depraved  woman." 

"  I'm  not.     God  knows  I'm  not." 

"  Well,  my  poor  woman,  I've  got  to  act  in  view  of  what 
I  know,  not  what  God  knows." 

"  If  I  tell  my  story,  will  I  have  to  give  names  ?" 

"  No,  not  necessarily.     It  would  be  best  though." 

"  I  can't  do  that,  but  I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  I  will  swear 
it  on  the  Bible.  I  married  some  one.  A  good  minister  mar- 
ried us.  The  man  deceived  me.  He  was  already  married, 
and  last  night  his  wife  came  to  my  happy  home  and  proved 
before  the  man  whom  I  thought  my  husband  that  I  was  no 
wife  at  all.  He  couldn't,  didn't  deny  it.  Oh  !  oh  !  oh !"  and 
she  again  rocked  back  and  forth  in  uncontrollable  anguish. 
"That's  all,"  she  added  brokenly.  "I  had  no  right  to  be 
near  him  or  her  any  longer  and  I  rushed  out.  I  don't  re- 
member much  more.  My  brain  seemed  on  fire.  I  just 
walked  and  walked  till  I  was  brought  here." 


90  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  sergeant,  sympathetically,  "  you 
have  been  treated  badly,  outrageously,  but  you  are  not  to 
blame  unless  you  married  the  man  hastily  and  foolishly." 

"That's  what  every  one  will  think,  but  it  don't  seem  to 
me  that  I  did.  It's  a  long  story,  and  I  can't  tell  it." 

"  But  you  ought  to  tell  it,  my  poor  woman.  You  ought 
to  sue  the  man  for  damages  and  send  him  to  State  prison." 

"No,  no,"  cried  Alida,  passionately.  "I  don't  want  to 
see  him  again  and  I  won't  go  to  a  court  before  people  unless 
I  am  dragged  there." 

The  sergeant  looked  up  at  the  policeman  who  had  ar- 
rested her  and  said,  "This  story  is  not  contrary  to  anything 
you  saw?" 

"No,  sir,  she  was  wandering  about  and  seemed  half  out 
of  her  mind." 

"Well,  then,  I  can  let  you  go." 

"But  I  don't  know  where  to  go,"  she  replied,  looking  at 
him  with  hunted,  hollow  eyes.  "I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to 
be  sick.  Please  don't  turn  me  into  the  streets.  I'd  rather 
go  back  to  the  cell." 

"That  won't  answer.  There's  no  place  that  I  can  send 
you  to  except  the  poorhouse.  Haven't  you  any  money  ?" 

"No,  sir.  I  just  rushed  away  and  left  everything  when 
I  learned  the  truth." 

"Tom  Watterly's  hotel  is  the  only  place  for  her,"  said 
the  policeman,  with  a  nod. 

"Oh,  I  can't  go  to  a  hotel." 

"He  means  the  almshouse,"  explained  the  sergeant. 
"What  is  your  name?" 

"Alida — that's  all  now.  Yes,  I'm  a  pauper  and  I  can't 
work  just  yet.  I'll  be  safe  there,  won't  I  ?" 

"Certainly,  safe  as  if  in  your  mother's  house." 

"Oh,  mother,  mother;    thank  God,  you  are  dead." 

"Well,  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  the  sergeant,  kindly. 

'Taint  often  we  have  so  sad  a  case  as  yours.     If  you  say 

so,  I'll  send  for  Tom  Watterly,  and  he  and  his  wife  will  take 

charge  of  you.     After  a  few  days,  your  mind  will  get  quieter 


A    NIGHT   OF   TERROR  91 

and  clearer,  and  then  you'll  prosecute  the  man  who  wronged 

you." 

"I'll  go  to  the  poorhouse  until  I  can  do  better,"  she  replied 
wearily.  "Now,  if  you  please,  I'll  return  to  my  cell,  where 
I  can  be  alone." 

"Oh,  we  can  give  you  a  better  room  than  that,"  said  the 
sergeant.  "Show  her  into  the  waiting-room,  Tim.  If  you 
prosecute,  we  can  help  you  with  our  testimony.  Good-by, 
and  may  you  have  better  days !" 

Watterly  was  telegraphed  to  come  down  with  a  convey- 
ance, for  the  almshouse  was  in  a  suburb.  In  due  time  he 
appeared,  and  was  briefly  told  Alida's  story.  He  swore  a 
little  at  the  "mean  cuss,"  the  author  of  all  the  trouble,  and 
then  took  the  stricken  woman  to  what  all  his  acquaintances 
facetiously  termed  his  "hotel." 


92  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTEE    XI 

BAFFLED 

IN  the  general  consciousness,  Nature  is  regarded  as  femi- 
nine, and  even  those  who  love  her  most  will  have  to 
adopt  Mrs.  Mumpson's  oft-expressed  opinion  of  the  sex, 
and  admit  that  she  is  sometimes  a  "peculiar  female."  Dur- 
ing the  month  of  March,  in  which  our  story  opens,  there  was 
scarcely  any  limit  to  her  varying  moods.  It  would  almost 
appear  that  she  was  taking  a  mysterious  interest  in  Holcroft's 
affairs ;  but  whether  it  was  a  kindly  interest  or  not,  one 
might  be  at  a  loss  to  decide.  When  she  caught  him  away 
from  house,  she  pelted  him  with  the  coldest  of  rain  and 
made  his  house,  with  even  Mrs.  Mumpson  and  Jane  abiding 
there,  seem  a  refuge.  In  the  morning  after  the  day  on 
which  he  had  brought,  or  in  a  sense  had  carted  Mrs.  Wig- 
gins to  his  domicile,  Nature  was  evidently  bent  on  instituting 
contrasts  between  herself  and  the  rival  phases  of  femininity 
with  which  the  farmer  was  compelled  to  associate.  It  may 
have  been  that  she  had  another  motive  and  was  determined 
to  keep  her  humble  worshipper  at  her  feet,  and  to  render  it 
impossible  for  him  to  make  the  changes  toward  which  he 
had  felt  himself  driven. 

Being  an  early  riser,  he  was  up  with  the  sun,  and  the  sun 
rose  so  serenely  and  smiled  so  benignly  that  Holcroft's 
clouded  brow  cleared  in  spite  of  all  that  had  happened  or 
xjould  take  place.  The  rain  which  had  brought  such  dis- 
comfort the  night  before  had  settled  the  ground  and  made 
it  comparatively  firm  to  his  tread.  The  southern  breeze 
which  fanned  his  cheek  was  as  soft  as  the  air  of  May.  He 


BAFFLED  93 

remembered  that  it  was  Sunday  and  that  beyond  feeding 
his  stock  and  milking  he  would  have  nothing  to  do.  He 
exulted  in  the  unusual  mildness  and  thought,  with  an  im- 
mense sense  of  relief,  "I  can  stay  out  doors  nearly  all 
day."  He  resolved  to  let  his  help  kindle  the  fire  and  get 
breakfast  as  they  could,  and  to  keep  out  of  their  way. 
Whatever  changes  the  future  might  bring,  he  would  have 
one  more  long  day  in  rambling  about  his  fields  and  in 
thinking  over  the  past.  Feeling  that  there  need  be  no  haste 
about  anything,  he  leisurely  inhaled  the  air,  fragrant  from 
springing  grass,  and  listened  with  a  vague,  undefined  pleas- 
ure to  the  ecstatic  music  of  the  bluebirds,  song-sparrows  and 
robins.  If  any  one  had  asked  him  why  he  liked  to  hear 
them  he  would  have  replied,  "I'm  used  to  'em.  When  they 
come  I  know  that  plowing  and  planting  time  is  near." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Holcroft's  enjoyment  of  spring 
was  not  very  far  removed  from  that  of  the  stock  in  his  barn- 
yard. All  the  animal  creation  rejoices  in  the  returning  sun 
and  warmth.  A  subtle,  powerful  influence  sets  the  blood 
in  more  rapid  motion,  kindles  new  desires  and  awakens  a 
glad  expectancy.  All  that  is  alive  becomes  more  thoroughly 
alive  and  existence  in  itself  is  a  pleasure.  Spring  had  always 
brought  to  the  farmer  quickened  pulses,  renewed  activity 
and  hopefulness,  and  he  was  pleased  to  find  that  he  was  not 
so  old  and  cast  down  that  its  former  influence  had  spent 
itself.  Indeed,  it  seemed  that  never  before  had  his  fields, 
his  stock  and  outdoor  work — and  these  comprised  Nature 
to  him — been  so  attractive.  They  remained  unchanged, 
amid  the  sad  changes  which  had  clouded  his  life,  and  his 
heart  clung  more  tenaciously  than  ever  to  old  scenes  and 
occupations.  They  might  not  bring  him  happiness  again, 
but  he  instinctively  felt  that  they  might  insure  a  comfort 
and  peace  with  which  he  could  be  content. 

At  last,  he  went  to  the  barn  and  began  his  work,  doing 
everything  slowly,  and  getting  all  the  solace  he  could  from 
the  tasks.  The  horses  whinnied  their  welcome  and  he  rubbed 
their  noses  caressingly  as  he  fed  them.  The  cows  came 


94  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

briskly  to  the  rack  in  which  he  foddered  them  in  pleasant 
weather,  and  when  he  scratched  them  between  the  horns 
they  turned  their  mild,  Juno-like  eyes  upon  him  with  un- 
disguised affection.  The  chickens,  clamoring  for  their  break- 
fast, followed  so  closely  that  he  had  to  be  careful  where  he 
stepped.  Although  he  knew  that  all  this  goodwill  was  based 
chiefly  on  the  hope  of  food  and  the  remembrance  of  it  in 
the  past,  nevertheless  it  soothed  and  pleased  him.  He  was 
in  sympathy  with  this  homely  life;  it  belonged  to  him  and 
was  dependent  on  him;  it  made  him  honest  returns  for  his 
care.  Moreover,  it  was  agreeably  linked  with  the  past. 
There  were  quiet  cows  which  his  wife  had  milked,  clucking 
biddies  which  she  had  lifted  from  nests  with  their  downy 
broods.  He  looked  at  them  wistfully,  and  was  wondering 
if  they  ever  missed  the  presence  that  he  regretted  so  deeply, 
when  he  became  conscious  that  Jane's  eyes  were  upon  him. 
How  long  she  had  been  watching  him,  he  did  not  know,  but 
she  merely  said,  "Breakfast's  ready,"  and  disappeared. 

With  a  sigh  he  went  to  his  room  to  perform  his  ablutions, 
remembering  with  a  slight  pang  how  his  wife  always  had  a 
basin  and  towel  ready  for  him  in  the  kitchen.  In  the  break- 
ing up  of  just  such  homely  customs,  he  was  continually 
reminded  of  his  loss. 

On  awakening  to  the  light  of  this  Sabbath  morning,  Mrs. 
Mumpson  had  thought  deeply  and  reasoned  everything  out 
again.  She  felt  that  it  must  be  an  eventful  day  and  that 
there  was  much  to  be  accomplished.  In  the  first  place, 
there  was  Mrs.  Wiggins.  She  disapproved  of  her  decidedly. 
"She  isn't  the  sort  of  person  that  I  would  prefer  to  superin- 
tend," she  remarked  to  Jane  while  making  a  toilet  which  she 
deemed  befitting  the  day,  "and  the  hour  will  assurdly  come 
when  Mr.  Holcroft  will  look  upon  her  in  the  light  that  I  do. 
He  will  eventually  realize  that  I  cannot  be  brought  in  such 
close  relationship  with  a  pauper.  Not  that  the  relationship 
is  exactly  close,  but  then  I  shall  have  to  speak  to  her — in 
brief,  to  superintend  her.  My  eyes  will  be  offended  by  her 
vast  proportions  and  uncouth  appearance.  The  floor  creaks 


BAFFLED  95 

beneath  her  tread  and  affects  my  nerves  seriously.  Of  course, 
while  she  is  here,  I  shall  zealously,  as  befits  one  in  my  re- 
sponserble  position,  try  to  render  useful  such  service  as  she 
can  perform.  But  then,  the  fact  that  I  disapprove  of  her 
must  soon  become  evident.  When  it  is  discovered  that  I 
only  tolerate  her,  there  will  be  a  change.  I  cannot  show  my 
disapproval  very  strongly  to-day,  for  this  is  a  day  set  apart 
for  sacred  things,  and  Mrs.  Viggins,  as  she  called  herself — I 
cannot  imagine  a  Mr.  Viggins,  for  no  man  in  his  senses 
could  have  married  such  a  creature — as  I  was  saying,  Mrs. 
Viggins  is  not  at  all  sacred  and  I  must  endeavor  to  abstract 
my  mind  from  her  till  to-morrow,  as  far  as  posserble.  My 
first  duty  to-day  is  to  induce  Mr.  Holcroft  to  take  us  to 
church.  It  will  give  the  people  of  Oakville  such  a  pleasing 
impression  to  see  us  driving  to  church.  Of  course,  I  may 
fail.  Mr.  Holcroft  is  evidently  a  hardened  man.  All  the 
influences  of  his  life  have  been  adverse  to  spiritual  develop- 
ment, and  it  may  require  some  weeks  of  my  influence  to 
soften  him  and  awaken  yearnings  for  what  he  has  not  yet 
known." 

"He  may  be  yearnin'  for  breakfast,"  Jane  remarked, 
completing  her  toilet  by  tying  her  little  pigtail  .braid  with 
something  that  had  once  been  a  bit  of  black  ribbon,  but  was 
now  a  string.  "You'd  better  come  down  soon  and  help." 

"If  Mrs.  Viggins  cannot  get  breakfast,  I  would  like  to 
know  what  she  is  here  for,"  continued  Mrs.  Mumpson, 
loftily  and  regardless  of  Jane's  departure.  "I  shall  decline 
to  do  menial  work  any  longer,  especially  on  this  sacred  day, 
and  after  I  have  made  my  toilet  for  church.  Mr.  Holcroft 
has  had  time  to  think.  My  disapproval  was  manifest  last 
night  and  it  has  undoubtedly  occurred  to  him  that  he  has 
not  conformed  to  the  proprieties  of  life.  Indeed,  I  almost 
fear  I  shall  have  to  teach  him  what  the  proprieties  of  life 
are.  He  witnessed  my  emotion  when  he  spoke  as  he  should 
not  have  spoken  to  me.  But  I  must  make  allowances  for  his 
unregenerate  state.  He  was  cold,  and  wet,  and  hungry  last 
night,  and  men  are  unreasonerble  at  such  times.  I  shall  now 


96  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

heap  coals  of  fire  upon  his  head.  I  shall  show  that  I  am  a 
meek,  forgiving  Christian  woman,  and  he  will  relent,  soften, 
and  become  penitent.  Then  will  be  my  opportunity,"  and  she 
descended  to  the  arena  which  should  witness  her  efforts. 

During  the  period  in  which  Mrs.  Mumpson  had  indulged 
in  these  lofty  reflections  and  self-communings,  Mrs.  Wiggins 
had  also  arisen.  I  am  not  sure  whether  she  had  thought  of 
anything  in  particular  or  not  She  may  have  had  some 
spiritual  longings  which  were  not  becoming  to  any  day  of 
the  week.  Being  a  woman  of  deeds,  rather  than  of  thought, 
probably  not  much  else  occurred  to  her  beyond  the  duty 
of  kindling  the  fire  and  getting  breakfast.  Jane  came  down, 
and  offered  to  assist,  but  was  cleared  out  with  no  more 
scruple  than  if  Mrs.  Wiggins  had  been  one  of  the  much- 
visited  relatives. 

"The  hidee,"  she  grumbled,  "of  'avin'  sich  a  little  trollop 
round  hunder  my  feet!" 

Jane  therefore  solaced  herself  by  watching  the  "cheap 
girl"  till  her  mother  appeared. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  sailed  majestically  in  and  took  the  rock- 
ing-chair, mentally  thankful  that  it  had  survived  the  crushing 
weight  imposed  upon  it  the  evening  before.  Mrs.  Wiggins 
did  not  drop  a  courtesy.  Indeed,  not  a  sign  of  recognition 
passed  over  her  vast,  immobile  face.  Mrs.  Mumpson  was  a 
little  embarrassed.  "I  hardly  know  how  to  comport  myself 
toward  that  female,"  she  thought.  "She  is  utterly  uncouth. 
Her  manners  are  unmistakerbly  those  of  a  pauper.  I  think 
I  will  ignore  her  to-day.  I  do  not  wish  my  feelings  ruffled 
or  put  out  of  harmony  with  the  sacred  duties  and  motives 
which  actuate  me." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  therefore  rocked  gently,  solemnly,  and 
strange  to  say,  silently,  and  Mrs.  Wiggins  also  proceeded 
with  her  duties,  but  not  in  silence,  for  everything  in  the  room 
trembled  and  clattered  at  her  tread.  Suddenly,  she  turned 
on  Jane  and  said,  "  'Ere,  you  little  baggage,  go  and  tell  the 
master  breakfast's  ready." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  sprang  from  her  chair,  and  with  a  voice 


BAFFLED  97 

choked  with  indignation,  gasped,  "Do  you  dare  address  my 
offspring  thus  ?" 

"Ye're  vat?" 

"My  child,  my  daughter,  who  is  not  a  pauper,  but  the 
offspring  of  a  most  respecterble  woman  and  respecterbly 
connected.  I'm  amazed,  I'm  dumbfoundered,  I'm — " 

"Ye're  a  bit  daft,  hi'm  a  thinkin'."  Then  to  Jane,  "Vy 
don't  ye  go  an'  hearn  ye're  salt  ?" 

"Jane,  I  forbid — "  but  it  had  not  taken  Jane  half  a  min- 
ute to  decide  between  the  now  jarring  domestic  powers,  and 
henceforth  she  would  be  at  Mrs.  Wiggins's  beck  and  call. 
"She  can  do  somethin',"  the  child  muttered,  as  she  stole  upon 
Holcroft. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  sank  back  in  her  chair,  but  her  mode  of 
rocking  betokened  a  perturbed  spirit.  "I  will  -estrain  my- 
self till  to-morrow  and  then — "  She  shook  her  head  por- 
tentously and  waited  till  the  farmer  appeared,  feeling  assured 
that  Mrs.  Wiggins  would  soon  be  taught  to  recognize  her 
station.  When  breakfast  was  on  the  table  she  darted  to  her 
place  behind  the  coffee-pot,  for  she  felt  that  there  was  no 
telling  what  this  awful  Mrs.  Wiggins  might  not  assume  dur- 
ing this  day  of  sacred  restraint.  But  the  ex-pauper  had  no 
thought  of  presumption  in  her  master's  presence,  and  the 
rocking-chair  again  distracted  Mrs.  Mumpson's  nerves  as  it 
creaked  under  an  unwonted  weight. 

Holcroft  took  his  seat  in  silence.  The  widow  again  bowed 
her  head  devoutly,  and  sighed  deeply  when  observing  that 
the  farmer  ignored  her  suggestion. 

"I  trust  that  you  feel  refreshed  after  your  repose,"  she 
said  benignly. 

"I  do." 

"It  is  a  lovely  morning — a  morning,  I  may  add,  befitting 
the  sacred  day.  Nature  is  at  peace,  and  suggests  that  we 
and  all  should  be  at  peace." 

"There's  nothing  I  like  more,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  unless  it  is 
quiet." 

"I  feel  that  way,  myself.  You  don't  know  what  restraint 
R—E— XVIII 


98  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

I  have  put  upon  myself  that  the  sacred  quiet  of  this  day 
might  not  be  disturbed.  I  have  had  strong  provercation  since 
I  entered  this  apartment.  I  will  forbear  to  speak  of  it  till 
to-morrow,  in  order  that  there  may  be  quietness  and  that  our 
minds  may  be  prepared  for  worship.  I  feel  that  it  would  be 
unseemly  for  us  to  enter  a  house  of  worship  with  thoughts 
of  strife  in  our  souls.  At  precisely  what  moment  do  you 
wish  me  to  be  ready  for  church?" 

"I  am  not  going  to  church,  Mrs.  Mumpson." 

"'Not  going  to  church!  I — I — scarcely  understand, 
Worship  is  such  a  sacred  duty — " 

"You  and  Jane  certainly  have  a  right  to  go  to  church,  and 
since  it  is  your  wish,  I'll  take  you  down  to  Lemuel  Weeks's 
and  you  can  go  with  them." 

"I.  don't  want  to  go  to  'cousin  Lemuel's,  nor  to  church, 
nuther,"  Jane  protested. 

"Why,  Mr.  Holcroft,"  began  the  widow,  sweetly,  "after 
you've  once  harnessed  up  it  will  take  but  a  little  longer  to 
keep  on  to  the  meeting-house.  It  would  appear  so  seemly 
for  us  to  drive  thither,  as  a  matter  of  course.  It  would  be 
what  the  communerty  expects  of  us.  This  is  not  our  day, 
that  we  should  spend  it  carnally.  We  should  be  spiritually 
minded.  We  should  put  away  things  of  earth.  Thoughts 
of  business  and  any  unnecessary  toil  should  be  abhorrent.  I 
have  often  thought  that  there  was  too  much  milking  done  on 
Sunday  among  farmers.  I  know  they  say  it  is  essential,  but 
they  all  seem  so  prone  to  forget  that  but  one  thing  is  need- 
ful. I  feel  it  borne  in  upon  my  mind,  Mr,  Holcroft,  that  I 
should  plead  with  you  to  attend  divine  worship  and  seek  au 
uplifting  of  your  thoughts.  You  have  no  idea  how  differ- 
ently the  day  may  end,  or  what  emotions  may  be  aroused  if 
you  place  yourself  under  the  droppings  of  the  sanctuary." 

"I'm  like  Jane,  I  don't  wish  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Holcroft, 
nervously. 

"But,  my  dear  Mr.  Holcroft" — the  farmer  fidgeted  under 
this  address — "the  very  essence  of  true  religion  is  to  do  what 
we  don't  wish  to  do.  We  are  to  mortify  the  flesh  and  thwart 


BAFFLED  99 

the  carnal  mind.  The  more  thorny  the  path  of  self-denial  is, 
the  more  certain  it's  the  right  path.  I've  already  entered 
upon  it,"  she  continued,  turning  a  momentary  glare  upon 
Mrs.  Wiggins.  "Never  before  was  a  respecterble  woman 
so  harrowed  and  outraged;  but  I  am  calm;  I  am  endeav- 
oring to  maintain  a  frame  of  mind  suiterble  to  worship,  and 
I  feel  it  my  bounden  duty  to  impress  upon  you  that  worship 
is  a  necessity  to  every  human  being.  My  conscience  would 
not  acquit  me  if  I  did  not  use  all  my  influence — " 

"Very  well,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  you  and  your  conscience  are 
quits.  You  have  used  all  your  influence.  I  will  do  as  I 
said — take  you  to  Lemuel  Weeks's  and  you  can  go  to  church 
with  his  family,"  and  he  rose  from  the  table. 

"But  cousin  Lemuel  is  also  painfully  blind  to  his  spiritual 
interests — " 

Holcroft  did  not  stay  to  listen  and  was  soon  engaged  in 
the  morning  milking.  Jane  flatly  declared  that  she  would 
not  go  to  cousin  Lemuel's  or  to  church.  "It  don't  do  me 
no  good,  nor  you,  nuther,"  she  sullenly  declared  to  her 
mother. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  now  resolved  upon  a  different  line  of  tac- 
tics. Assuming  a  lofty,  spiritual  air,  she  commanded  Jane 
to  light  a  fire  in  the  parlor  and  retire  thither  with  the  rock- 
ing-chair. The  elder  widow  looked  after  her  and  ejaculated, 
"Veil,  hif  she  hain't  the  craziest  loon  hi  hever  'eard  talk. 
Hif  she  vas  blind  she  might  'a'  seen  that  the  master  didn't 
vant  hany  sich  lecturin'  clack." 

Having  kindled  the  fire,  the  child  was  about  to  leave  the 
room  when  her  mother  interposed  and  said,  solemnly,  "Jane, 
sit  down  and  keep  Sunday." 

"I'm  goin'  to  help  Mrs.  Wiggins,  if  she'll  let  me." 

"You  will  not  so  demean  yourself.  I  wish  you  to  have 
no  relations  whatever  with  that  female  in  the  kitchen.  If 
you  had  proper  self-respect  you  would  never  speak  to  her 
again." 

"We  ain't  visitin*  here.  If  I  can't  work  indoors  I'll  tell 
him  I'll  work  outdoors." 


100  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"It's  not  proper  for  you  to  work  to-day.  I  want  you  to 
sit  there  in  the  corner  and  learn  the  Fifth  Commandment." 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  cousin  Lemuel's?" 

"On  mature  reflection,  I  have  decided  to  remain  at 
home." 

"I  thought  you  would  if  you  had  any  sense  left.  You 
know  well  enough  we  ain't  wanted  down  there.  I'll  go  tell 
him  not  to  hitch  up." 

"Well,  I  will  permit  you  to  do  so.  Then  return  to  your 
Sunday  task." 

"I'm  goin'  to  mind  him,"  responded  the  child.  She 
passed  rapidly  and  apprehensively  through  the  kitchen,  but 
paused  on  the  doorstep  to  make  some  overtures  to  Mrs. 
Wiggins.  If  that  austere  dame  was  not  to  be  propitiated,  a 
line  of  retreat  was  open  to  the  barn.  "Say,"  she  began,  to 
attract  attention. 

"Veil,  young-un,"  replied  Mrs.  Wiggins,  rendered  more 
pacific  by  her  breakfast. 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  wash  up  the  dishes  and  put  'em 
away  ?  I  know  how." 

"Hi'll  try  ye.  Hif  ye  breaks  hanythink" — and  the  old 
woman  nodded  volumes  at  the  child. 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  minute,"  said  Jane.  A  moment  later 
she  met  Holcroft  carrying  two  pails  of  milk  from  the  barn- 
yard. He  was  about  to  pass  without  noticing  her,  but  she 
again  secured  attention  by  her  usual  preface,  "say,"  when 
she  had  a  somewhat  extended  communication  to  make. 

"Come  to  the  dairy-room,  Jane,  and  say  your  say  there," 
said  Holcroft,  not  unkindly. 

"She  ain't  goin'  to  cousin  Lemuel's,"  said  the  girl,  from 
the  door. 

"What  is  she  going  to  do." 

"Rock  in  the  parlor.  Say,  can't  I  help  Mrs.  Wiggle 
wash  up  the  dishes  and  do  the  work  ?" 

"Certainly;  why  not?" 

"Mother  says  I  must  sit  in  the  parlor  V  learn  Command- 
ments V  keep  Sunday." 


BAFFLED  101 

"Well,   Jane,  which  do  you  think  you  ought  to  do?" 

"I  think,  I  oughter  work,  and  if  you  and  Mrs.  Wiggins 
will  let  me,  I  will  work  in  spite  of  mother." 

"I  think  that  you  and  your  mother  both  should  help  do 
the  necessary  work  to-day.  There  won't  be  much." 

"If  I  try  and  help  Mrs.  Wiggins  mother'll  bounce  out  at 
me.  She  shook  me  last  night  after  I  went  upstairs,  and  she 
boxed  my  ears  'cause  I  wanted  to  keep  the  kitchen  fire  up 
last  night." 

"I'll  go  with  you  to  the  kitchen  and  tell  Mrs.  Wiggins  to 
let  you  help,  and  I  won't  let  your  mother  punish  you  again 
unless  you  do  wrong." 

Mrs.  Wiggins,  relying  on  Jane's  promise  of  help,  had 
sat  down  to  the  solace  of  her  pipe  for  a  few  minutes,  but  was 
about  to  thrust  it  hastily  away  on  seeing  Holcroft.  He  re- 
assured her  by  saying,  good-naturedly,  "No  need  of  that, 
my  good  woman.  Sit  still  and  enjoy  your  pipe.  I  like  to 
smoke  myself.  Jane  will  help  clear  away  things  and  I  wish 
her  to.  You'll  find  she's  quite  handy.  By  the  way,  have 
you  all  the  tobacco  you  want  ?" 

"Veil,  now,  master,  p'raps  ye  know  the  'lowance  down  hat 
the  poor-us  vasn't  sich  as  ud  keep  a  body  in  vat  ye'd  call 
satisfyin'  smokin'.  Hi  never  'ad  henough  ter  keep  down 
the  'ankerin'." 

"I  suppose  that's  so.  You  shall  have  half  of  my  stock, 
and  when  I  go  to  town  again,  I'll  get  you  a  good  supply.  I 
guess  I'll  light  my  pipe,  too,  before  starting  for  a  walk." 

"Bless  yer  'art,  master,  ye  makes  a  body  comf'terble. 
Ven  hi  smokes  hi  feels  more  hat  'ome  and  kind  o'  contented 
like.  And  hold  'ooman  like  me  haint  got  much  left  to  com- 
fort 'er  but  'er  pipe." 

"Jane,"  called  Mrs.  Mumpson  sharply  from  the  parlor. 
As  there  was  no  answer,  the  widow  soon  appeared  in  the 
kitchen  door.  Smoking  was  one  of  the  unpardonable  sins 
in  Mrs.  Mumpson's  eyes;  and  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Wiggins 
puffing  comfortably  away  and  Holcroft  lighting  his  pipe, 
while  Jane  cleared  the  table,  language  almost  failed  her. 


102  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

She  managed  to  articulate,  "Jane,  this  atmosphere  is  not  fit 
for  you  to  breathe,  on  this  sacred  day.  I  wish  you  to  share 
my  seclusion." 

"Mrs.  Mumpson,  I  have  told  her  to  help  Mrs.  Wiggins 
in  the  necessary  work,"  Holcroft  interposed. 

"Mr.  Holcroft,  you  don't  realize — men  never  do — Jane 
is  my  offspring,  and — 

"Oh,  if  you  put  it  that  way,  I  shan't  interfere  between 
mother  and  child.  But  I  suppose  you  and  Jane  came  here 
to  work." 

"If  you  will  enter  the  parlor.  I  will  explain  to  you  fully 
my  views,  and — " 

"Oh,  please  excuse  me,"  said  Holcroft,  hastily  passing 
out,  "I  was  just  starting  for  a  walk. — I'm  bound  to  have  one 
more  day  to  myself  on  the  old  place,"  he  muttered,  as  he 
bent  his  steps  toward  an  upland  pasture. 

Jane,  seeing  that  her  mother  was  about  to  pounce  upon 
her,  ran  behind  Mrs.  Wiggins,  who  slowly  rose  and  began  a 
progress  toward  the  irate  widow,  remarking  as  she  did  so, 
"Hi'll  just  shut  the  door  'twixt  ye  and  ye're  hoffspring,  and 
then  ye  kin  say  ye're  prayers  hon  the  tother  side." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  was  so  overcome  at  the  turn  affairs  had 
taken  on  this  day  which  was  to  witness  such  progress  in  her 
plans  and  hopes,  as  to  feel  the  absolute  necessity  of  a  pro- 
longed season  of  thought  and  soliloquy,  and  she  relapsed 
without  protest  into  the  rocking-chair. 


JANE  103 


CHAPTER  XH 

JANE 

HOLCROFT  was  not  long  in  climbing  to  a  sunny  nook 
whence  he  could  see  not  only  his  farm  and  dwelling, 
but  also  the  Oakville  valley,  and  the  little  white 
spire  of  the  distant  meeting-house.  He  looked  at  this  last- 
named  object  wistfully  and  very  sadly.  Mrs.  Mumpson's 
tirade  about  worship  had  been  without  effect,  but  the  memo- 
ries suggested  by  the  church  were  bitter-sweet  indeed.  It 
belonged  to  the  Methodist  denomination,  and  Holcroft  had 
been  taken,  or  had  gone  thither,  from  the  time  of  his  earliest 
recollection.  He  saw  himself  sitting  between  his  father  and 
mother,  a  round-faced  urchin  to  whom  the  sermon  was  unin- 
telligible, but  to  whom  little  Bessie  Jones  in  the  next  pew 
was  a  fact,  not  only  intelligible,  but  very  interesting.  She 
would  turn  around  and  stare  at  him  until  he  smiled,  then  she 
would  giggle  until  her  mother  brought  her  right-about-face 
with  considerable  emphasis.  After  this,  he  saw  the  little 
boy — could  it  have  been  himself? — nodding,  swaying,  and 
finally  slumbering  peacefully,  with  his  head  on  his  mother's 
lap,  until  shaken  into  sufficient  consciousness  to  be  half 
dragged,  half  led,  to  the  door.  Once  in  the  big,  springless 
farm  wagon  he  was  himself  again,  looking  eagerly  around  to 
catch  another  glimpse  of  Bessie  Jones.  Then,  he  was  a  big, 
irreverent  boy,  shyly  and  awkwardly  bent  on  mischief  in  the 
same  old  meeting-house.  Bessie  Jones  no  longer  turned  and 
stared  at  him,  but  he  exultingly  discovered  that  he  could 
still  make  her  giggle  on  the  sly.  Years  passed,  and  Bessie 


104  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

was  his  occasional  choice  for  a  sleigh-ride  when  the  long 
body  of  some  farm  wagon  was  placed  on  runners,  and  boys 
and  girls — young  men  and  women,  they  almost  thought 
themselves — were  packed  in  like  sardines.  Something  like 
self-reproach  smote  Holcroft  even  now,  remembering  how 
he  had  allowed  his  fancy  much  latitude  at  this  period,  paying 
attention  to  more  than  one  girl  besides  Bessie,  and  painfully 
undecided  which  he  liked  best. 

Then  had  come  the  memorable  year  which  had  opened 
with  a  protracted  meeting.  He  and  Bessie  Jones  had  passed 
under  conviction  at  the  same  time,  and  on  the  same  evening 
had  gone  forward  to  the  anxious  seat.  From  the  way  in 
which  she  sobbed,  one  might  have  supposed  that  the  good, 
simple-hearted  girl  had  terrible  burdens  on  her  conscience; 
but  she  soon  found  hope,  and  her  tears  gave  place  to  smiles. 
Holcroft,  on  the  contrary,  was  terribly  cast  down  and  unable 
to  find  relief.  He  felt  that  he  had  much  more  to  answer 
for  than  Bessie;  he  accused  himself  of  having  been  a  rather 
coarse,  vulgar  boy;  he  had  made  fun  of  sacred  things  in  that 
meeting-house  more  times  than  he  liked  to  think  of,  and  now 
for  some  reason  could  think  of  nothing  else.  He  could  not 
shed  tears,  or  get  up  much  emotion ;  neither  could  he  rid  him- 
self of  the  dull  weight  at  heart.  The  minister,  the  brethren 
and  sisters,  prayed  for  him  and  over  him,  but  nothing  re- 
moved his  terrible  inertia.  He  became  a  familiar  form  on 
the  anxious  seat,  for  there  was  a  dogged  persistence  in  his 
nature  which  prevented  him  from  giving  up;  but  at  the  close 
of  each  meeting  he  went  home  in  a  state  of  deeper  dejection. 
Sometimes,  in  returning,  he  was  Bessie  Jones's  escort,  and 
her  happiness  added  to  his  gall  and  bitterness.  One  moonlight 
night,  they  stopped  under  the  shadow  of  a  pine  near  her 
father's  door,  and  talked  over  the  matter  a  few  moments  be- 
fore parting.  Bessie  was  full  of  sympathy  which  she  hardly 
knew  how  to  express.  Unconsciously,  in  her  earnestness — 
how  well  he  remembered  the  act ! — she  laid  her  hand  on  his 
arm  as  she  said,  "James,  I  guess  I  know  what's  the  trouble 
with  you.  In  all  your  seeking,  you  are  thinking  only  of 


JANE  105 

yourself — how  bad  you've  been,  and  all  that.  I  wouldn't 
think  of  myself  and  what  I  was  any  more,  if  I  was  you.  You 
ain't  so  awful  bad,  James,  that  I'd  turn  a  cold  shoulder  to 
you ;  but  you  might  think  I  was  doing  just  that  if  you  staid 
away  from  me  and  kept  saying  to  yourself,  'I  ain't  fit  to  speak 
to  Bessie  Jones'." 

Her  face  had  looked  sweet  and  compassionate,  and  her 
touch  upon  his  arm  had  conveyed  the  subtile  magic  of  sym- 
pathy. Under  her  homely  logic,  the  truth  had  burst  upon 
him  like  sunshine.  In  brief,  he  had  turned  from  his  own 
shadow  and  was  in  the  light.  He  remembered  how  in  his 
deep  feeling  he  had  bowed  his  head  on  her  shoulder  and 
murmured,  "O  Bessie,  Heaven  bless  you!  I  see  it  all." 

He  no  longer  went  to  the  anxious  seat.  With  this  young 
girl,  and  many  others,  he  was  taken  into  the  church  on  pro- 
bation. Thereafter,  his  fancy  never  wandered  again,  and 
there  was  no  other  girl  in  Oakville  for  him  but  Bessie.  In 
due  time,  he  had  gone  with  her  to  yonder  meeting-house  to 
be  married.  It  had  all  seemed  to  come  about  as  a  matter 
of  course.  He  scarcely  knew  when  he  became  formally  en- 
gaged. They  "kept  company"  together  steadfastly  for  a 
suitable  period,  and  that  seemed  to  settle  it  in  their  own  and 
everybody  else's  mind. 

There  had  been  no  change  in  Bessie's  quiet,  constant  soul. 
After  her  words  under  the  shadow  of  the  pine  tree  she 
seemed  to  find  it  difficult  to  speak  of  religious  subjects,  even 
to  her  husband;  but  her  simple  faith  had  been  unwavering, 
and  she  had  entered  into  rest  without  fear  or  misgiving. 

ISTot  so  her  husband.  He  had  his  spiritual  ups  and  downs, 
but,  like  herself,  was  reticent.  While  she  lived,  only  a  heavy 
storm  kept  them  from  "going  to  meeting,"  but  with  Hoi- 
croft,  worship  was  often  little  more  than  a  form,  his  mind 
being  on  the  farm  and  its  interests.  Parents  and  relatives 
had  died,  and  the  habit  of  seclusion  from  neighborhood  and 
church  life  had  grown  upon  them  gradually  and  almost  un- 
consciously. 

For  a  long  time  after  his  wife's  death,  Holcroft  had  felt 


106  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

that  he  did  not  wish  to  see  any  one  who  would  make  refer- 
ences to  his  loss.  He  shrunk  from  formal  condolences  as  he 
would  from  the  touch  of  a  diseased  nerve.  When  the 
minister  called,  he  listened  politely  but  silently  to  a  general 
exhortation;  then  muttered,  when  left  alone,  "It's  all  as  he 
says,  I  suppose;  but  somehow  his  words  are  like  the  medi- 
cines Bessie  took — they  don't  do  any  good." 

He  kept  up  the  form  of  his  faith  and  a  certain  vague  hope 
until  the  night  on  which  he  drove  forth  the  Irish  revellers 
from  his  home.  In  remembrance  of  his  rage  and  profanity 
on  that  occasion,  he  silently  and  in  dreary  misgiving  con- 
cluded that  he  should  not,  even  to  himself,  keep  up  the  pre- 
tence of  religion  any  longer.  "I've  fallen  from  grace — that 
is,  if  I  ever  had  any" — was  a  thought  which  did  much  to 
rob  him  of  courage  to  meet  his  other  trials.  Whenever  he 
dwelt  on  these  subjects,  doubts,  perplexities  and  resentment 
at  his  misfortunes  so  thronged  his  mind  that  he  was  appalled ; 
so  he  strove  to  occupy  himself  with  the  immediate  present. 

To-day,  however,  in  recalling  the  past,  his  thoughts  would 
question  the  future  and  the  outcome  of  his  experiences.  In 
accordance  with  his  simple,  downright  nature,  he  muttered, 
"I  might  as  well  face  the  truth  and  have  done  with  it.  I 
don't  know  whether  I'll  ever  see  my  wife  again  or  not;  I 
don't  know  whether  God  is  for  me  or  against  me.  Some- 
times, I  half  think  there  isn't  any  God.  I  don't  know  what 
will  become  of  me  when  I  die.  I'm  sure  of  only  one  thing 
— while  I  do  live  I  could  take  comfort  in  working  the  old 
place." 

In  brief,  without  ever  having  heard  of  the  term,  he  was 
an  agnostic,  but  not  one  of  the  self-complacent,  superior  type 
who  fancy  that  they  have  developed  themselves  beyond  the 
trammels  of  faith  and  are  ever  ready  to  make  the  world 
aware  of  their  progress. 

At  last,  he  recognized  that  his  long  revery  was  leading  to 
despondency  and.  weakness;  he  rose,  shook  himself  half 
angrily,  and  strode  toward  the  house.  "I'm  here,  and  here 
I'm  going  to  stay,"  he  growled.  "As  long  as  I'm  on  my 


JANE  107 

own  land,  it's  nobody's  business  what  I  am  or  how  I  feel.  If 
I  can't  get  decent,  sensible  women  help,  I'll  close  up  my 
dairy  and  live  here  alone.  I  certainly  can  make  enough 
to  support  myself." 

Jane  met  him  with  a  summons  to  dinner,  looking  appre- 
hensively at  his  stern,  gloomy  face.  Mrs.  Mumpson  did  not 
appear.  "Call  her,"  he  said  curtly. 

The  literal  Jane  returned  from  the  parlor  and  said,  un- 
sympathetically,  "She's  got  a  hank'chif  to  her  eyes  and  says 
she  don't  want  no  dinner." 

"Very  well,"  he  replied,  much  relieved. 

Apparently  he  did  not  want  much  dinner,  either,  for  he 
soon  started  out  again.  Mrs.  "Wiggins  was  not  utterly  want- 
ing in  the  intuitions  of  her  sex,  and  said  nothing  to  break  in 
upon  her  master's  abstraction. 

In  the  afternoon,  Holcroft  visited  every  nook  and  corner 
of  his  farm,  laying  out,  he  hoped,  so  much  occupation  for 
both  hands  and  thoughts  as  to  render  him  proof  against 
domestic  tribulations. 

He  had  not  been  gone  long  before  Mrs.  Mumpson  called 
in  a  plaintive  voice,  "Jane." 

The  child  entered  the  parlor  warily,  keeping  open  a  line 
of  retreat  to  the  door.  "You  need  not  fear  me,"  said  her 
mother,  rocking  pathetically.  "My  feelings  are  so  hurt  and 
crushed  that  I  can  only  bemoan  the  wrongs  from  which  I 
suffer.  You  little  know,  Jane,  you  little  know  a  mother's 
heart." 

"!No,"  assented  Jane,  "I  dunno  nothin'  about  it." 

"What  wonder,  then,  that  I  weep,  when  my  child  is  so 
unnatural !" 

"I  dunno  how  to  be  anything  else  but  what  I  be,"  replied 
the  girl  in  self-defence. 

"If  you  would  only  yield  more  to  my  guidance  and  influ- 
ence, Jane,  the  future  might  be  brighter  for  us  both.  If  you 
had  but  stored  up  the  Fifth  Commandment  in  memory — 
but  I  forbear.  You  cannot  so  far  forget  your  duty  as  not 
to  tell  me  how  he  behaved  at  dinner." 


108  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

"He  looked  awful  glum,  and  hardly  said  a  word." 
"Ah-h !"  exclaimed  the  widow,  "the  spell  is  working." 
"If  you  ain't  a  workin'  to-morrow,  there'll  be  a  worse 
spell,"  the  girl  remarked. 

"That  will  do,  Jane,  that  will  do.  You  little  understand 
— how  should  you  ?  Please  keep  an  eye  on  him  and  let  me 
know  how  he  looks  and  what  he  is  doing  and  whether  his 
face  still  wears  a  gloomy  or  a  penitent  aspect.  Do  as  I  bid 
you,  Jane,  and  you  may  unconsciously  secure  your  own 
well-being  by  obedience." 

Watching  any  one  was  a  far  more  congenial  task  to  the 
child  than  learning  the  Commandments,  and  she  hastened 
to  comply.  Moreover,  she  had  the  strongest  curiosity  in 
regard  to  Holcroft  herself.  She  felt  that  he  was  the  arbiter 
of  her  fate.  So  untaught  was  she,  that  delicacy  and  tact 
were  unknown  qualities.  Her  one  hope  of  pleasing  was  in 
work.  She  had  no  power  of  guessing  that  sly  espionage 
would  counterbalance  such  service.  Another  round  of  visit- 
ing was  dreaded  above  all  things;  she  was  therefore  exceed- 
ingly anxious  about  the  future.  "Mother  may  be  right/'  she 
thought.  "P'raps  she  can  make  him  marry  her,  so  we 
needn't  go  away  any  more.  P'raps  she's  taken  the  right 
way  to  bring  a  man  around  and  get  him  hooked,  as  cousin 
Lemuel  said.  If  I  was  goin'  to  hook  a  man  though,  I'd  try 
another  plan  than  mother's.  I'd  keep  my  mouth  shut  and 
my  eyes  open.  I'd  see  what  he  wanted  and  do  it,  even  'fore 
he  spoke.  'Fi's  big  annuf  I  bet  I  could  hook  a  man  quicker'n 
she  can  by  usin  her  tongue  'stead  of  her  hands." 

Jane's  scheme  was  not  so  bad  a  one  but  that  it  might  be 
tried  to  advantage  by  those  so  disposed.  Her  matrimonial 
prospects,  'however,  being  still  far  in  the  future,  it  behooved 
her  to  make  her  present  existence  as  tolerable  as  possible. 
She  knew  how  much  depended  on  Holcroft  and  was  unaware 
of  any  other  method  of  learning  his  purposes  except  that  of 
watching  him.  Both  fearing  and  fascinated,  she  dogged  his 
steps  most  of  the  afternoon,  but  saw  nothing  to  confirm  her 
mother's  view  that  any  spell  was  working.  She  scarcely  un- 


JANE  109 

derstood  why  he  looked  so  long  at  field,  thicket,  and  woods,  as 
if  he  saw  something  invisible  to  her. 

In  planning  future  work  and  improvements,  the  farmer 
had  attained  a  quieter  and  more  genial  frame  of  mind. 
When,  therefore,  he  sat  down  and  in  glancing  about  saw 
Jane  crouching  behind  a  low  hemlock,  he  was  more  amused 
than  irritated.  He  had  dwelt  on  his  own  interests  so  long 
that  he  was  ready  to  consider  even  Jane's  for  a  while.  "Poor 
child !"  he  thought,  "she  doesn't  know  any  better  and  perhaps 
has  even  been  taught  to  do  such  things.  I  think  I'll  sur- 
prise her  and  draw  her  out  a  little. 

"Jane,  come  here,"  he  called. 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  hesitated  whether  to  fly 
or  obey.  "Don't  be  afraid,"  added  Holcroft.  "I  won't 
scold  you.  Come." 

She  stole  toward  him  like  some  small,  wild,  fearful 
animal  in  doubt  of  its  reception.  "Sit  down  there  on  that 
rock,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed  with  a  sly,  sidelong  look,  and  he  saw  that  she 
kept  her  feet  gathered  under  her  so  as  to  spring  away  if  he 
made  the  slightest  hostile  movement. 

"Jane,  do  you  think  it's  right  to  watch  people  so?"  he 
asked  gravely. 

"She  told  me  to." 

"Your  mother?" 

The  girl  nodded. 

"But  do  you  think  it's  right  yourself  ?" 

"Dunno.     'Taint  best  if  you  get  caught." 

"Well,  Jane,"  said  Holcroft,  with  something  like  a  smile 
lurking  in  his  deepset  eyes,  "I  don't  think  it's  right  at  all. 
I  don't  want  you  to  watch  me  any  more,  no  matter  who  tells 
you  to.  Will  you  promise  not  to  ?" 

The  child  nodded.  She  seemed  averse  to  speaking  when 
a  sign  would  answer. 

"Can  I  go  now  ?"  she  asked  after  a  moment. 

"Not  yet.  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions.  Was  any 
one  ever  kind  to  you  ?" 


110  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

"I  dunno.     I  suppose  so." 

"What  would  you  call  being  kind  to  you  ?" 

"Not  scoldin'  or  cufiin'  me." 

"If  I  didn't  scold  or  strike  you,  would  you  think  I  was 
kind,  then?" 

She  nodded;  but  after  a  moment's  thought,  said,  "And 
if  you  didn't  look  as  if  you  hated  to  see  me  round." 

"Do  you  think  I've  been  kind  to  you  ?" 

"Kinder'n  anybody  else.  You  sorter  look  at  me  some- 
times as  if  I  was  a  rat.  I  don't  s'pose  you  can  help  it  and 
I  don't  mind.  I'd  ruther  stay  here  and  work  than  go  a  visit- 
in'  again.  Why  can't  I  work  outdoors  when  there's  nothin' 
for  me  to  do  in  the  house  ?" 

"Are  you  willing  to  work — to  do  anything  you  can  ?" 

Jane  was  not  sufficiently  politic  to  enlarge  on  her  desire 
for  honest  toil  and  honest  bread;  she  merely  nodded.  Hoi- 
croft  smiled  as  he  asked,  "Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  work  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  won't  feel  like  a  stray  cat  in  the  house  then. 
I  want  to  be  some'ers  where  I've  a  right  to  be." 

"Wouldn't  they  let  you  work  down  at  Lemuel  Weeks's  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Why  not  ?"  he  asked. 

"They  said  I  wasn't  honest ;  they  said  they  couldn't  trust 
me  with  things,  'cause  when  I  was  hungry  I  took  things 
to  eat." 

"Was  that  the  way  you  were  treated  at  other  places  ?" 

"Mostly." 

"Jane,"  asked  Holcroft,  very  kindly,  "did  any  one  ever 
kiss  you  ?" 

"Mother  used  to  'fore  people.  It  allus  made  me  kinder 
sick." 

Holcroft  shook  his  head,  as  if  this  child  was  a  problem 
beyond  him,  and  for  a  time  they  sat  together  in  silence.  At 
last,  he  rose  and  said,  "It's  time  to  go  home.  Now,  Jane, 
don't  follow  me;  walk  openly  at  my  side,  and  when  you 
come  to  call  me  at  any  time,  come  openly,  make  a  noise, 
whistle  or  sing  as  a  child  ought.  As  long  as  you  are  with 


JANE  HI 

me,  never  do  anything  on  the  sly  and  we'll  get  along  well 
enough." 

She  nodded  and  walked  beside  him.  At  last,  as  if  em- 
boldened by  his  words,  she  broke  out,  "Say,  if  mother  mar- 
ried you,  you  couldn't  send  us  away,  could  you  ?" 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  a  question?"  said  Holcroft, 
frowning. 

"I  was  thinkin'— " 

"Well,"  he  interrupted,  sternly,  "never  think  or  speak  of 
such  things  again." 

The  child  had  a  miserable  sense  that  she  had  angered 
him ;  she  was  also  satisfied  that  her  mother's  schemes  would 
be  futile,  and  she  scarcely  spoke  again  that  day. 

Holcroft  was  more  than  angry ;  he  was  disgusted.  That 
Mrs.  Mumpson's  design  upon  him  was  so  offensively  open 
that  even  this  ignorant  child  understood  it  and  was  expected 
to  further  it,  caused  such  a  strong  revulsion  in  his  mind  that 
he  half  resolved  to  put  them  both  in  his  market  wagon  on 
the  morrow  and  take  them  back  to  their  relatives.  His 
newly  awakened  sympathy  for  Jane  quickly  vanished.  If 
the  girl  and  her  mother  had  been  repulsive  from  the  first, 
they  were  now  hideous,  in  view  of  their  efforts  to  fasten 
themselves  upon  him  permanently.  Fancy,  then,  the  climax 
in  his  feelings  when,  as  they  passed  the  house,  the  front  door 
suddenly  opened  and  Mrs.  Mumpson  emerged  with  clasped 
hands  and  the  exclamation,  "Oh,  how  touching! — just  like 
father  and  child!" 

Without  noticing  the  remark,  he  said  coldly,  as  he  passed, 
"Jane,  go  help  Mrs.  Wiggins  get  supper." 

His  anger  and  disgust  grew  so  strong  as  he  hastily  did  his 
evening  work  that  he  resolved  not  to  endanger  his  self-con- 
trol by  sitting  down  within  earshot  of  Mrs.  Mumpson.  As 
soon  as  possible,  thereforevhe  carried  the  new  stove  to  his 
room  and  put  it  up.  The  widow  tried  to  address  him  as  he 
passed  in  and  out,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  her.  At  last,  he 
only  paused  long  enough  at  the  kitchen  door  to  say,  "Jane, 


112  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

bring  me  some  supper  to  my  room.  Remember,  you  only 
are  to  bring  it." 

Bewildered  and  abashed,  Mrs.  Mumpson  rocked  ner- 
vously. "I  had  looked  for  relentings  this  evening,  a  gen- 
eral softening,"  she  murmured,  "and  I  don't  understand 
his  bearing  toward  me."  Then  a  happy  thought  struck 
her.  "I  see,  I  see,"  she  cried  softly  and  ecstatically:  "he 
is  struggling  with  himself;  he  finds  that  he  must  either 
deny  himself  my  society  or  yield  at  once.  The  end  is 
near." 

A  little  later  she,  too,  appeared  at  the  kitchen  door  and 
said,  with  serious  sweetness,  "Jane,  you  can  also  bring  me 
my  supper  to  the  parlor." 

Mrs.  Wiggins  shook  with  mirth  in  all  her  vast  proportions 
as  she  remarked,  "Jane,  ye  can  bring  me  my  supper  from  the 
the  stove  to  the  table  'ere,  and  then  vait  hon  yeself." 


NOT    WIFE,    BUT    WAIF  113 


CHAPTER    XIII 

NOT     WIFE,     BUT     WAIF 

TOM  Watterly's  horse  was  the  pride  of  his  heart.  It  was 
a  bob-tailed,  raw-boned  animal,  but,  as  Tom  compla- 
cently remarked  to  Alida,  "He  can  pass  about  any- 
thing on  the  road" — a  boast  that  he  let  no  chance  escape  of 
verifying.  It  was  a  terrible  ordeal  to  the  poor  woman  to  go 
dashing  through  the  streets  in  an  open  wagon,  feeling  that 
every  eye  was  upon  her.  With  head  bowed  down,  she  em- 
ployed her  failing  strength  in  holding  herself  from  falling 
out,"  yet  almost  wishing  that  she  might  be  dashed  against  some 
object  that  would  end  her  wretched  life.  It  finally  occurred 
to  Tom  that  the  woman  at  his  side  might  not,  after  her  recent 
experience,  share  in  his  enthusiasm,  and  he  pulled  up,  re- 
marking, with  a  rough  effort  at  sympathy,  "It's  a  cussed 
shame  you've  been  treated  so,  and  as  soon  as  you're  ready,  I'll 
help  you  get  even  with  the  scamp." 

"I'm  not  well,  sir,"  said  Alida,  humbly.  "I  only  ask  for 
a  quiet  place  where  I  can  rest  till  strong  enough  to  do  some 
kind  of  work." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Tom,  kindly,  "don't  lose  heart.  We'll 
do  the  best  by  you  we  can.  That  ain't  saying  very  much, 
though,  for  we're  full  and  running  over." 

He  soon  drew  rein  at  the  poorhouse  door  and  sprang  out. 
"I — I — feel  strange,"  Alida  gasped. 

Tom  caught  the  fainting  woman  in  his  arms  and  shouted, 
''Here,  Bill,  Joe,  you  lazy  loons,  where  are  you  ?" 

Three  or  four  half  wrecks  of  men  shuffled  to  his  assis- 
tance, and  together  they  bore  the  unconscious  woman  to  the 
room  which  was  used  as  a  sort  of  hospital.  Some  old  crones 


114  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

gathered  around  with  such  restoratives  as  they  had  at  com- 
mand. Gradually  the  stricken  woman  revived,  but  as  the 
whole  miserable  truth  came  back,  she  turned  her  face  to  the 
wall  with  a  sinking  of  heart  akin  to  despair.  At  last,  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  feverish  sleep  ensued,  from  which  she  often 
started  with  moans  and  low  cries.  One  impression  haunted 
her — she  was  falling,  ever  falling  into  a  dark,  bottomless 
abyss. 

Hours  passed  in  the  same  partial  stupor,  filled  with  phan- 
toms and  horrible  dreams.  Toward  evening,  she  aroused 
herself  mechanically  to  take  the  broth  Mrs.  Watterly  ordered 
her  to  swallow,  then  relapsed  into  the  same  lethargy.  Late 
in  the  night,  she  became  conscious  that  some  one  was  kneel- 
ing at  her  bedside  and  fondling  her.  She  started  up  with  a 
slight  cry. 

"Don't  be  afraid;  it's  only  me,  dear,"  said  a  quavering 
voice. 

In  the  dim  rays  of  a  night  lamp,  Alida  saw  an  old  woman 
with  gray  hair  falling  about  her  face  and  on  her  night-robe. 
At  first,  in  her  confused,  feverish  impressions,  the  poor  waif 
was  dumb  with  superstitious  awe,  and  trembled  between  joy 
and  fear.  Could  her  mother  have  come  to  comfort  her  in 
her  sore  extremity  ? 

"Put  yer  head  on  me  ould  withered  breast,"  said  the 
apparition,  "an'  ye'll  know  a  mither's  heart  niver  changes. 
I've  been  alookin'  for  ye  and  expectin'  ye  these  long,  weary 
years.  They  said  ye  wouldn't  come  back — that  I'd  niver 
find  ye  ag'in;  but  I  knowed  I  wud,  and  here  ye  are  in  me 
arms,  me  darlint.  Don't  draw  away  from  yer  ould  mither. 
Don't  ye  be  afeard  or  'shamed  loike.  No  matter  what  ye've 
done  or  where  ye've  been  or  who  ye've  been  with,  a  mither's 
heart  welcomes  ye  back  jist  the  same  as  when  yes  were  a 
babby  an'  slept  on  me  breast.  A  mither's  heart  ud  quench 
the  fires  o'  hell.  I'd  go  inter  the  burnin'  flames  o'  the  pit 
an'  bear  ye  out  in  me  arms.  So  niver  fear.  Now  that  I've 
found  ye,  ye're  safe.  Ye'll  not  rin  away  from  me  ag'in.  I'll 
hould  ye — I'll  hould  ye  back,"  and  the  poor  creature  clasped 


NOT    WIFE,   BUT    WAIF  115 

Alida  with  such  conclusive  energy  that  she  screamed  from 
pain  and  terror. 

"Ye  shall  not  get  away  from  me,  ye  shall  not  go  back  to 
evil  ways.  Whist,  whist,  be  aisy  and  let  me  plead  wid  ye. 
Think  how  many  long,  weary  years  I've  looked  for  ye  and 
waited  for  ye.  Niver  have  I  slept  noight  or  day  in  me  watch- 
in'.  Ye  may  be  so  stained  an'  lost  an'  ruined  that  the  whole 
wourld  will  scorn  ye,  yet  not  yer  mither,  not  yer  ould 
mither.  O  Nora,  Nora,  why  did  ye  rin  away  from  me? 
Wasn't  I  koind  ?  No,  no,  ye  cannot  lave  me  ag'in,"  and  she 
threw  herself  on  Alida,  whose  disordered  mind  was  tortured 
by  what  she  heard.  Whether  or  not  it  was  a  more  terrible 
dream  than  had  yet  oppressed  her,  she  scarcely  knew,  but  in 
the  excess  of  her  nervous  horror  she  sent  out  a  cry  that 
echoed  in  every  part  of  the  large  building.  Two  old  women, 
rushed  in  and  dragged  Alida's  persecutor  screaming  away. 

"That's  allus  the  way  o'  it,"  she  shrieked.  "As  soon  as 
I  find  me  Nora  they  snatches  me  and  carries  me  off,  and  I 
have  to  begin  me  watchin'  and  waitin'  and  lookin'  ag'in." 

Alida  continued  sobbing  and  trembling  violently.  One 
of  the  awakened  patients  sought  to  assure  her  by  saying, 
"Don't  mind  it  so,  miss.  It's  only  old  crazy  Kate.  Her 
daughter  ran  away  from  her  years  and  years  ago — how  many 
no  one  knows — and  when  a  young  woman's  brought  here  she 
thinks  it's  her  lost  Nora.  They  oughtn't  a  let  her  get  out, 
knowin'  you  was  here." 

For  several  days  Alida's  reason  wavered.  The  nervous 
shock  of  her  sad  experiences  had  been  so  great  that  it  did 
not  seem  at  all  improbable  that  she,  like  the  insane  mother, 
might  be  haunted  for  the  rest  of  her  life  by  an  overwhelming 
impression  of  something  lost.  In  her  morbid,  shaken  mind 
she  confounded  the  wrong  she  had  received  with  guilt  on 
her  own  part.  Eventually,  she  grew  calmer  and  more  sen- 
sible. Although  her  conscience  acquitted  her  of  intentional 
evil,  nothing  could  remove  the  deep-rooted  conviction  that 
she  was  shamed  beyond  hope  of  remedy.  For  a  time  she 
was  unable  to  rally  from  nervous  prostration;  meanwhile, 


116  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

her  mind  was  preternaturally  active,  presenting  every  detail 
of  the  past  until  she  was  often  ready  to  cry  aloud  in  her 
despair. 

Tom  Watterly  took  an  unusual  interest  in  her  case  and 
exhorted  the  visiting  physician  to  do  his  best  for  her.  She 
finally  began  to  improve,  and  with  the  first  return  of  strength 
sought  to  do  something  with  her  feeble  hands.  The  bread 
of  charity  was  not  sweet 

Although  the  place  in  which  she  lodged  was  clean,  and 
the  coarse,  unvarying  fare  abundant,  she  shrank  shuddering, 
with  each  day's  clearer  consciousness,  from  the  majority  of 
those  about  her.  Phases  of  life  of  which  she  had  scarcely 
dreamed  were  the  common  topics  of  conversation.  In  her 
mother,  she  had  learned  to  venerate  gray  hairs,  and  it  was 
an  awful  shock  to  learn  that  so  many  of  the  feeble  creatures 
about  her  were  coarse,  wicked,  and  evil-disposed.  How  could 
their  withered  lips  frame  the  words  they  spoke  ?  How  could 
they  dwell  on  subjects  that  were  profanation,  even  to  such 
wrecks  of  womanhood  as  themselves  ? 

Moreover,  they  persecuted  her  by  their  curiosity.  The 
good  material  in  her  apparel  had  been  examined  and  com- 
mented on ;  her  wedding  ring  had  been  seen  and  its  absence 
soon  noted,  for  Alida,  after  gaining  the  power  to  recall  the 
past  fully,  had  thrown  away  the  metal  lie,  feeling  that  it 
was  the  last  link  in  a  chain  binding  her  to  a  loathed  and 
hated  relationship.  Learning  from  their  questions  that  the 
inmates  of  the  almshouse  did  not  know  her  history,  she 
refused  to  reveal  it,  thus  awakening  endless  surmises.  Many 
histories  were  made  for  her,  the  beldams  vying  with  each 
other  in  constructing  the  worst  one.  Poor  Alida  soon  learned 
that  there  was  public  opinion  even  in  an  almshouse,  and  that 
she  was  under  its  ban.  In  dreary  despondency  she  thought, 
"They've  found  out  about  me.  If  such  creatures  as  these 
think  I'm  hardly  fit  to  speak  to,  how  can  I  ever  find  work 
among  good,  respectable  people  ?" 

Her  extreme  depression,  the  coarse,  vulgar,  and  unchari- 
table natures  by  which  she  was  surrounded,  retarded  her 


NOT    WIFE,   BUT    WAIF  117 

recovery.  By  her  efforts  to  do  anything  in  her  power  for 
others  she  disarmed  the  hostility  of  some  of  the  women,  and 
those  that  were  more  or  less  demented  became  fond  of  her; 
but  the  majority  probed  her  wound  by  every  look  and  word, 
she  was  a  saint  compared  with  any  of  these,  yet  they  made 
her  envy  their  respectability.  She  often  thought,  "Would 
to  God  that  I  was  as  old  and  ready  to  die  as  the  feeblest 
woman  here  if  I  could  only  hold  up  my  head  like  her." 

One  day  a  woman  who  had  a  child  left  it  sleeping  in 
its  rude  wooden  cradle  and  went  downstairs.  The  babe 
wakened  and  began  to  cry.  Alida  took  it  up  and  found  a 
strange  solace  in  rocking  it  to  sleep  again  upon  her  breast. 
At  last  the  mother  returned,  glared  a  moment  into  Alida's 
appealing  eyes,  then  snatched  the  child  away  with  the  cruel 
words  "Don't  ye  touch  my  baby  ag'in.  To  think  it  ud  been 
in  the  arms  o'  the  loikes  o'  ye !" 

Alida  went  away  and  sobbed  until  her  strength  was  gone. 
She  found  that  there  were  some  others  ostracized  like  her- 
self, but  they  accepted  their  positions  as  a  matter  of  course 
— as  if  it  belonged  to  them  and  was  least  of  their  troubles. 

Her  strength  was  returning,  yet  she  was  still  feeble  when 
she  sent  for  Mrs.  Watterly  and  asked,  "Do  you  think  I'm 
strong  enough  to  take  a  place  somewhere?" 

"You  ought  to  know  that  better  than  me,"  was  the  chilly 
reply. 

"Do  you — do  you  think  I  could  get  a  place?  I  would 
be  willing  to  do  any  kind  of  honest  work  not  beyond  my 
strength." 

"You  hardly  look  able  to  sit  up  straight.  Better  wait 
till  you're  stronger.  I'll  tell  my  husband.  If  applications 
come,  he'll  see  about  it,"  and  she  turned  coldly  away. 

A  day  or  two  later  Tom  came  and  said  brusquely,  but  not 
unkindly,  "Don't  like  my  hotel,  hey?  What  can  you  do?" 

"I'm  used  to  sewing,  but  I'd  try  to  do  almost  anything  by 
which  I  could  earn  my  living." 

"Best  thing  to  do  is  to  prosecute  that  scamp  and  make 
him  pay  you  a  good  round  sum." 


118  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

She  shook  her  head  decidedly.  "I  don't  wish  to  see 
him  again.  I  don't  wish  to  go  before  people  and  have  the 
—the — past  talked  about.  I'd  like  a  place  with  some  kind, 
quiet  people  who  keep  no  other  help.  Perhaps  they  wouldn't 
take  me  if  they  knew;  but  I  would  be  so  faithful  to  them, 
and  try  so  hard  to  learn  what  they  wanted — " 

"That's  all  nonsense,  their  not  taking  you.  I'll  find  you 
a  place  some  day,  but  you're  not  strong  enough  yet.  You'd 
be  brought  right  back  here.  You're  as  pale  as  a  ghost — 
almost  look  like  one.  So  don't  be  impatient,  but  give  me  a 
chance  to  find  you  a  good  place.  I  feel  sorry  for  you,  and 
don't  want  you  to  get  among  folks  that  have  no  feelings. 
Don't  you  worry  now;  chirk  up,  and  you'll  come  out  all 
right." 

"I — I  think  that  if — if  I'm  employed,  the  people  who 
take  me  ought  to  know,"  said  Alida,  with  bowed  head. 

"They'll  be  blamed  fools  if  they  don't  think  more  of  you 
when  they  do  know,"  was  his  response.  "Still,  that  shall  be 
as  you  please.  I've  told  only  my  wife,  and  they've  kept 
mum  at  the  police  station,  so  the  thing  hasn't  got  into  the 
papers." 

Alida's  head  bowed  lower  still  as  she  replied,  "I  thank 
you.  My  only  wish  now  is  to  find  some  quiet  place  in  which 
I  can  work  and  be  left  to  myself." 

"Very  well,"  said  Tom,  good-naturedly.  "Cheer  up,  I'll 
be  on  the  lookout  for  you." 

She  turned  to  the  window,  near  which  she  was  sitting,  to 
hide  the  tears  which  his  rough  kindness  evoked.  "He  don't 
seem  to  shrink  from  me  as  if  I  wasn't  fit  to  be  spoken  to," 
she  thought;  "but  his  wife  did.  I'm  afraid  people  won't 
take  me  when  they  know." 

The  April  sunshine  poured  in  at  the  window;  the  grass 
was  becoming  green ;  a  robin  alighted  on  a  tree  near  by  and 
poured  out  a  jubilant  song.  For  a  few  moments  hope,  that 
had  been  almost  dead  in  her  heart,  revived.  As  she  looked 
gratefully  at  the  bird,  thanking  it  in  her  heart  for  the  song, 
it  darted  upon  a  string  hanging  on  an  adjacent  spray  and 


NOT    WIFE,   BUT    WAIF  119 

bore  it  to  a  crotch  between  two  boughs.  Then  Alicia  saw 
it  was  building  a  nest.  Her  woman's  heart  gave  way.  "Oh," 
she  moaned,  "I  shall  never  have  a  home  again!  no  place 
shared  by  one  who  cares  for  me.  To  work,  and  to  be  tolerated 
for  the  sake  of  my  work,  is  all  that's  left." 


120  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


A     PITCHED     BATTLE 

IT  was  an  odd  household  under  Holcroft's  roof  on  the 
evening  of  the  Sunday  we  have  described.  The  farmer, 
in  a  sense,  had  "taken  sanctuary"  in  his  own  room,  that 
he  might  escape  the  mano3uvring  wiles  of  his  tormenting 
housekeeper.  If  she  would  content  herself  with  general 
topics  he  would  try  to  endure  her  foolish,  high-flown  talk 
until  the  three  months  expired ;  but  that  she  should  speedily 
and  openly  take  the  initiative  in  matrimonial  designs  was 
proof  of  such  an  unbalanced  mind  that  he  was  filled  with 
nervous  dread.  "Hanged  if  one  can  tell  what  such  a  silly, 
hair-brained  woman  will  do  next,"  he  thought,  as  he  brooded 
by  the  fire.  "Sunday  or  no  Sunday,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to 
take  my  horsewhip  and  give  Lemuel  Weeks  a  piece  of  my 
mind." 

Such  musings  did  not  promise  well  for  Mrs.  Mumpson, 
scheming  in  the  parlor  below;  but,  as  we  have  seen,  she 
had  the  faculty  of  arranging  all  future  events  to  her  mind. 
That  matters  had  not  turned  out  in  the  past  as  she  had  ex- 
pected, counted  for  nothing.  She  was  one  who  could  not 
be  taught,  even  by  experience.  The  most  insignificant  thing 
in  Holcroft's  dwelling  had  not  escaped  her  scrutiny  and 
pretty  accurate  guess  as  to  value,  yet  she  could  not  see  or 
understand  the  intolerable  disgust  and  irritation  which  her 
ridiculous  conduct  excited.  In  a  weak  mind,  egotism  and 
selfishness,  beyond  a  certain  point,  pass  into  practical  insan- 
ity. All  sense  of  delicacy,  of  the  fitness  of  things,  is  lost; 
even  the  power  to  consider  the  rights  and  feelings  of  others 


A    PITCHED    BATTLE  121 

is  wanting.  Unlike  poor  Holcroft,  Mrs.  Mumpson  had  few 
misgivings  in  regard  to  coming  years.  As  she  rocked  un- 
ceasingly before  the  parlor  fire,  she  arranged  everything  in 
regard  to  his  future  as  well  as  her  own. 

Jane,  quite  forgotten,  was  oppressed  with  a  miserable  pre- 
sentiment of  evil.  Her  pinched  but  intense  little  mind  was 
concentrated  on  two  facts — Holcroft's  anger  and  her  mother's 
lack  of  sense.  From  such  premises  it  did  not  take  her  long 
to  reason  out  but  one  conclusion — "visitin'  again;"  and  this 
was  the  summing  up  of  all  evils.  Now  and  then  a  tear  would 
force  its  way  out  of  one  of  her  little  eyes,  but  otherwise  she 
kept  her  troubles  to  herself. 

Mrs.  Wiggins  was  the  only  complacent  personage  in  the 
house,  and  she  unbent  with  a  garrulous  affability  to  Jane, 
which  could  be  accounted  for  in  but  one  way — Holcroft  had 
forgotten  about  his  cider  barrel,  thereby  unconsciously  giving 
her  the  chance  to  sample  its  contents  freely.  She  was  now 
smoking  her  pipe  with  much  content,  and  indulging  in  pleas- 
ing reminiscences  which  the  facts  of  her  life  scarcely 
warranted. 

"Ven  hi  vas  as  leetle  a  gall  as  ye  are,"  she  began,  and 
then  she  related  experiences  quite  devoid  of  the  simplicity 
and  innocence  of  childhood.  The  girl  soon  forgot  her  fears 
and  listened  with  avidity  until  the  old  dame's  face  grew 
heavier,  if  possible,  with  sleep,  and  she  stumbled  off  to  bed. 

Having  no  wish  to  see  or  speak  to  her  mother  again,  the 
child  blew  out  the  candle  and  stole  silently  up  the  stairway. 
At  last  Mrs.  Mumpson  took  her  light  and  went  noisily  around, 
seeing  to  the  fastenings  of  doors  and  windows.  "I  know  he 
is  listening  to  every  sound  from  me,  and  he  shall  learn  what 
a  caretaker  I  am,"-  she  murmured  softly. 

Once  out-of-doors  in  the  morning,  with  his  foot  on  the 
native  heath  of  his  farm,  Holcroft's  hopefulness  and  courage 
always  returned.  He  was  half  angry  with  himself  at  his 
nervous  irritation  of  the  evening  before.  "If  she  becomes 
so  cranky  that  I  can't  stand  her,  I'll  pay  the  three  months' 
wages  and  clear  her  out,"  he  had  concluded,  and  he  went 
R—F— XVIII 


122  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

about  his  morning  work  with  a  grim  purpose  to  submit  to 
very  little  nonsense. 

Cider  is  akin  to  vinegar,  and  Mrs.  Wiggins's  liberal  pota- 
tions of  the  evening  before  had  evidently  imparted  a  marked 
acidity  to  her  temper.  She  laid  hold  of  the  kitchen  utensils 
as  if  she  had  a  spite  against  them,  and  when  Jane,  confid- 
ing in  the  friendliness  shown  so  recently,  came  down  to 
assist,  she  was  chased  out  of  doors  with  language  we  forbear 
to  repeat.  Mrs.  Mumpson,  therefore,  had  no  intimation  of 
the  low  state  of  the  barometer  in  the  region  of  the  kitchen. 
"I  have  taken  time  to  think  deeply  and  calmly,"  she  mur- 
mured. "The  proper  course  has  been  made  clear  to  me.  He 
is  somewhat  uncouth ;  he  is  silent  and  unable  to  express 
his  thoughts  and  emotions — in  brief,  undeveloped;  he  is 
awfully  irreligious.  Moth  and  rust  are  busy  in  this  house; 
much  that  would  be  so  useful  is  going  to  waste.  He  must 
learn  to  look  upon  me  as  the  developer,  the  caretaker,  a 
patient  and  helpful  embodiment  of  female  influence.  I  will 
now  begin  actively  my  mission  of  making  him  an  ornerment 
to  society.  That  mountainous  Mrs.  Viggins  must  be  re- 
placed by  a  deferential  girl  who  will  naturally  look  up  to 
me.  How  can  I  be  a  true  caretaker — how  can  I  bring  repose 
and  refinement  to  this  dwelling  with  two  hundred  pounds 
of  female  impudence  always  in  my  way  ?  Mr.  Holcrof t  shall 
see  that  Mrs.  Viggins  is  an  unseemly  and  jarring  discord  in 
our  home,"  and  she  brought  the  rocking-chair  from  the  parlor 
to  the  kitchen,  with  a  serene  and  lofty  air.  Jane  hovered 
near  the  window,  watching. 

At  first,  there  was  an  ominous  silence  in  respect  to  words. 
Portentous  sounds  increased,  however,  for  Mrs.  Wiggins 
strode  about  with  martial  tread,  making  the  boards  creak 
and  the  dishes  clatter,  while  her  red  eyes  shot  lurid  and 
sanguinary  gleams.  She  would  seize  a  dipper  as  if  it  were 
a  foe,  slamming  it  upon  the  table  again  as  if  striking  an 
enemy.  Under  her  vigorous  manipulation,  kettles  and  pans 
resounded  with  reports  like  firearms. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  was  evidently  perturbed ;  her  calm  supe- 


A    PITCHED   BATTLE  123 

riority  was  forsaking  her;  every  moment  she  rocked  faster, 
a  sure  indication  that  she  was  not  at  peace.  At  last  she 
said,  with  great  dignity,  "Mrs.  Viggins,  I  must  request  you 
to  perform  your  tasks  with  less  clamor.  My  nerves  are  not 
equal  to  this  peculiar  way  of  taking  up  and  laying  down 
things." 

"Veil,  jes'  ye  vait  a  minute,  han  hi'll  show  ye  'ow  hi  kin 
take  hup  things  han  put  'em  down  hag'in  hout  'o  my  vay," 
and  before  Mrs.  Mumpson  could  interfere,  she  found  herself 
lifted,  chair  and  all  bodily,  and  carried  to  the  parlor.  Be- 
tween trepidation  and  anger,  she  could  only  gasp  during  the 
transit,  and  when  left  in  the  middle  of  the  parlor  floor  she 
looked  around  in  utter  bewilderment. 

It  so  happened  that  Holcroft,  on  his  way  from  the  barn, 
had  seen  Jane  looking  in  at  the  window,  and,  suspecting 
something  amiss,  had  arrived  just  in  time  for  the  spectacle. 
Convulsed  with  laughter,  he  returned  hastily  to  the  barn; 
while  Jane  expressed  her  feelings,  whatever  they  were,  by 
executing  something  like  a  hornpipe  before  the  window. 

Mrs.  Mumpson,  however,  was  not  vanquished.  She  had 
only  made  a  compulsory  retreat  from  the  scene  of  hostilities, 
and  after  rallying  her  shattered  faculties,  advanced  again 
with  the  chair.  "How  dared  you,  you  disreputerble  female," 
she  began. 

Mrs.  Wiggins  turned  slowly  and  ominously  upon  her. 
"Ye  call  me  a  disrupterbul  female  hag'in,  han  ye  vont  find 
hit  'ealthy." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  prudently  backed  toward  the  door  before 
delivering  her  return  fire. 

"Woman !"  she  cried,  "are  you  out  of  your  mind  ?  Don't 
you  know  I'm  housekeeper  here  and  that  it's  my  duty  to 
superintend  you  and  your  work  ?" 

"Veil,  then  hi'll  double  ye  hup  hand  put  ye  hon  the  shelf 
hof  the  dresser  han'  lock  the  glass  door  hon  ye.  From  hup 
there  ye  kin  see  all  that's  goin'  hon  and  sup' intend  to  yer 
'eart's  content,"  and  she  started  for  her  superior  officer. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  backed  so  precipitately  with  her  chair  that 


124  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

it  struck  against  the  door-case  and  she  sat  down  hard.  See- 
ing that  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  almost  upon  her,  she  darted  back 
into  the  parlor,  leaving  the  chair  as  a  trophy  in  the  hands 
of  her  enemy.  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  somewhat  appeased  by 
this  second  triumph,  and  with  the  hope  of  adding  gall  and 
bitterness  to  Mrs.  Mumpson's  defeat,  she  took  the  chair  to 
her  rival's  favorite  rocking-place,  lighted  her  pipe  and  sat 
down  in  grim  complacency.  Mrs.  Mumpson  warily  ap- 
proached to  recover  a  support  which,  from  long  habit,  had 
become  moral  as  well  as  physical,  and  her  indignation  knew 
no  bounds  when  she  saw  it  creaking  under  the  weight  of 
her  foe.  It  must  be  admitted,  however,  that  her  ire  was 
not  so  great  that  she  did  not  retain  the  "better  part  of  valor," 
for  she  stepped  back,  unlocked  the  front  door  and  set  it  ajar. 
Returning,  she  opened  with  a  volubility  that  awed  even 
Mrs.  Wiggins  for  a  moment.  "You  miserable,  mountain- 
ous pauper,  you  interloper,  you  unrefined,  irresponserble, 
unregenerate  female,  do  you  know  what  you  have  done  in 
thus  outraging  me  ?  I'm  a  respecterble  woman,  respecterbly 
connected.  I'm  here  in  a  responserble  station.  When  Mr. 
Holcroft  appears  he'll  drive  you  from  the  dwelling  which  you 
vulgarize.  Your  presence  makes  this  apartment  a  den.  You 
are  a  wild  beast — " 

"Hi'm  a  vile  beastes,  ham  hi  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Wiggins,  at 
last  stung  into  action,  and  she  threw  her  lighted  pipe  at  the 
open  mouth  that  was  discharging  high-sounding  epithets  by 
the  score. 

It  struck  the  lintel  over  the  widow's  head,  was  shattered 
and  sent  down  upon  her  a  shower  of  villanously  smelling 
sparks.  Mrs.  Mumpson  shrieked  and  sought  frantically  to 
keep  her  calico  wrapper  from  taking  fire.  Meanwhile,  Mrs. 
Wiggins  rose  and  took  a  step  or  two  that  she  might  assist 
should  there  be  any  positive  danger,  for  she  had  not  yet 
reached  a  point  of  malignity  which  would  lead  her  to  witness 
calmly  an  auto-da-fe.  This  was  Jane's  opportunity.  Mrs. 
Wiggins  had  alienated  this  small  and  hitherto  friendly  power, 
and  now,  with  a  returning  impulse  of  loyalty,  it  took  sides 


A    PITCHED    BATTLE  125 

with  the  weaker  party.  The  kitchen  door  was  on  a  crack; 
the  child  pushed  it  noiselessly  open,  darted  around  behind 
the  stove  and  withdrew  the  rocking-chair. 

Mrs.  Wiggins's  brief  anxiety  and  pre-occupation  passed 
and  she  stepped  backward  again  to  sit  down.  She  did  sit 
down,  but  with  such  terrible  force  that  the  stove  and  nearly 
everything  else  in  the  room  threatened  to  fall  with  her.  She 
sat  helplessly  for  a  bewildered  moment,  while  Jane,  with  the 
chair,  danced  before  her,  exclaiming,  tauntingly,  "That's  for 
chasing  me  out  as  if  I  was  a  cat." 

"Noo  hi'll  chase  ye  both  hout,"  cried  the  ireful  Wiggins, 
scrambling  to  her  feet.  She  made  good  her  threat,  for  Hoi- 
croft,  a  moment  later,  saw  mother  and  daughter,  the  latter 
carrying  the  chair,  rushing  from  the  front  door,  and  Mrs. 
Wiggins,  armed  with  a  great  wooden  spoon,  waddling  after 
them,  her  objurgations  mingling  with  Mrs.  Mumpson's 
shrieks  and  Jane's  shrill  laughter.  The  widow  caught  a 
glimpse  of  him  standing  in  the  barn-door,  and,  as  if  borne 
by  the  wind,  she  new  toward  him,  crying,  "He  shall  be  my 
protector." 

He  barely  had  time  to  whisk  through  a  side  door  and 
close  it  after  him.  The  widow's  impetuous  desire  to  pant 
out  the  story  of  her  wrongs  carried  her  into  the  midst  of 
the  barnyard,  where  she  was  speedily  confronted  by  an  un- 
ruly young  heifer  that  could  scarcely  be  blamed  for  hostility 
to  such  a  wild  looking  object.  -j  .  •.'. 

The  animal  shook  its  head  threateningly  as  it  advanced. 
Again  the  widow's  shrieks  resounded.  This  time  Holcroft  was 
about  to  come  to  the  rescue,  when  the  beleaguered  woman 
made  a  dash  for  the  top  of  the  nearest  fence,  reminding  her 
amused  looker-on  of  the  night  of  her  arrival  when  she  had 
perched  like  some  strange  sort  of  bird  on  the  wagon  wheeL 

Seeing  that  she  was  abundantly  able  to  escape  alone,  the 
farmer  remained  in  concealment.  Although  disgusted  and 
angry  at  the  scenes  taking  place  he  was  scarcely  able  to  re- 
strain roars  of  laughter.  Perched  upon  the  fence,  the 
widow  called  piteously  for  him  to  lift  her  down,  but  he  was 


126  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

not  to  be  caught  by  any  such  device.  "At  last,  giving  up 
hope  and  still  threatened  by  the  heifer,  she  went  over  on 
the  other  side.  Knowing  that  she  must  make  a  detour 
before  reaching  the  dwelling,  Holcroft  went  thither  rapidly 
with  the  purpose  of  restoring  order  at  once.  "Jane,"  he 
said  sternly,  "take  that  chair  to  the  parlor  and  leave  it 
there.  Let  there  be  no  more  such  nonsense." 

At  his  approach,  Mrs.  Wiggins  had  retreated  sullenly  to 
the  kitchen.  "Come,"  he  ordered,  good-naturedly,  "hasten 
breakfast  and  let  there  be  no  more  quarrelling." 

"Hif  hi  vas  left  to  do  me  work  hin  peace  " — she  began. 

"Well,  you  shall  do  it  in  peace." 

At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Mumpson  came  tearing  in,  quite 
oblivious  of  the  fact  that  she  had  left  a  goodly  part  of  her 
calico  skirt  on  a  nail  of  the  fence.  She  was  rushing  toward 
Holcroft,  when  he  said,  sternly  and  with  a  repellent  gesture, 
"Stop  and  listen  to  me.  If  there's  any  more  of  this  quar- 
relling like  cats  and  dogs  in  my  house,  I'll  send  for  the  con- 
stable and  have  you  all  arrested.  If  you  are  not  all  utterly 
demented  and  hopeless  fools  you  will  know  that  you  came 
here  to  do  my  work,  and  nothing  else."  Then  catching  a 
glimpse  of  Mrs.  Mumpson's  dress,  and  fearing  he  should 
laugh  outright,  he  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel  and  went  to 
his  room,  where  he  was  in  a  divided  state  between  irrepres- 
sible mirth  and  vexation. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  also  fled  to  her  room.  She  felt  that  the 
proper  course  for  her  at  this  juncture  was  a  fit  of  violent 
hysterics;  but  a  prompt  douche  from  the  water  pitcher, 
administered  by  the  unsympathetic  Jane,  effectually  checked 
the  first  symptoms.  "Was  ever  a  respecterble  woman — 

"You  aint  respectable,"  interrupted  the  girl,  as  she  de- 
parted, "you  look  like  a  scarecrow.  Ti's  you  I'd  begin  to 
show  some  sense  now." 


'WHAT  IS    TO   BECOME   OF  ME?"  127 


CHAPTEK  XV 


WHAT  is  TO  BECOME  or 


HOLCROFT'S  reference  to  a  constable  and  arrest, 
though  scarcely  intended  to  be  more  than  a  vague 
threat,  had  the  effect  of  clearing  the  air  like  a  clap 
of  thunder.  Jane  had  never  lost  her  senses,  such  as  she 
possessed,'  and  Mrs.  Wiggins  recovered  hers  sufficiently  to 
apologize  to  the  farmer  when  he  came  down  to  breakfast. 
"But  that  Mumpson's  hawfully  haggravatin',  master,  as  ye 
know  yeself,  hi'm  a-thinkin'.  Vud  ye  jis  tell  a  body  vat  she 
is  'ere  han  'ow  hi'm  to  get  hon  vith  7er.  Hif  hi'm  to  take  nje 
horders  from  'er  hi'd  rather  go  back  to  the  poor-'us." 

"You  are  to  take  your  orders  from  me  and  no  one  else. 
All  I  ask  is  that  you  go  on  quietly  with  your  work  and  pay 
no  attention  to  her.  You  know  well  enough  that  I  can't 
have  such  goings  on.  I  want  you  to  let  Jane  help  you  and 
learn  how  to  do  everything  as  far  as  she  can.  Mrs.  Mump- 
son  can  do  the  mending  and  ironing,  I  suppose.  At  any  rate, 
I  won't  have  any  more  quarrelling  and  uproar.  I'm  a  quiet 
man  and  intend  to  have  a  quiet  house.  You  and  Jane  can 
get  along  very  well  in  the  kitchen;  and  you  say  you  under- 
stand the  dairy  work." 

"Veil,  hi  does,  han  noo  hi've  got  me  horders  hi'll  go 
right  along." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  was  like  one  who  had  been  rudely  shaken 
out  of  a  dream,  and  she  appeared  to  have  sense  enough  to 
realize  that  she  couldn't  assume  so  much  at  first  as  she 
anticipated.  She  received  from  Jane  a  cup  of  coffee,  and 
said,  feebly,  "I  can  partake  of  no  more  after  the  recent 
trying  events." 


128  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

For  some  hours  she  was  a  little  dazed,  but  her  mind  was 
of  too  light  weight  to  be  long  cast  down.  Jane  rehearsed 
Holcroft's  words,  described  his  manner,  and  sought  with 
much  insistence  to  show  her  mother  that  she  must  drop  her 
nonsense  at  once.  "I  can  see  it  in  his  eye,"  said  the  girl, 
"that  he  won't  stand  much  more.  If  yer  don't  come  down 
and  keep  yer  hands  busy  and  yer  tongue  still  we'll  tramp. 
As  to  his  marrying  you,  bah!  he'd  jes'  as  soon  marry  Mrs. 
Wiggins." 

This  was  awful  prose,  but  Mrs.  Mumpson  was  too  bewil- 
dered and  discouraged  for  a  time  to  dispute  it,  and  the 
household  fell  into  a  somewhat  regular  routine.  The  widow 
appeared  at  her  meals  with  the  air  of  a  meek  and  suffering 
martyr;  Holcroft  was  exceedingly  brief  in  his  replies  to  her 
questions  and  paid  no  heed  to  her  remarks.  After  supper 
and  his  evening  work,  he  went  directly  to  his  room.  Every 
day,  however,  he  secretly  chafed,  with  ever-increasing  dis- 
content, over  this  tormenting  presence  in  his  house.  The 
mending  and  such  work  as  she  attempted  was  so  wretchedly 
performed  that  it  would  better  have  been  left  undone.  She 
was  also  recovering  her  garrulousness,  and  mistook  his  tolera- 
tion and  her  immunity  in  the  parlor  for  proof  of  a  growing 
consideration.  "He  knows  that  my  hands  were  never  made 
for  such  coarse,  menial  tasks  as  that  Viggins  does,"  she 
thought,  as  she  darned  one  of  his  stockings  in  a  way  that 
would  render  it  almost  impossible  for  him  to  put  his  foot 
into  it  again.  "The  events  of  last  Monday  morning  were 
unfortunate,  unforeseen,  unprecedented.  I  was  unprepared 
for  such  vulgar,  barbarous,  unheard  of  proceedings — taken 
off  my  feet,  as  it  were ;  but  now  that  he's  had  time  to  think 
it  all  over  he  sees  that  I  am  not  a  common  woman  like  Vig- 
gins"— Mrs.  Mumpson  would  have  suffered  much  rather 
than  have  accorded  her  enemy  the  prefix  of  Mrs. — "who 
is  only  fit  to  be  among  pots  and  kettles.  He  leaves  me 
in  the  parlor  as  if  a  refined  apartment  became  me  and  I 
became  it.  Time  and  my  influence  will  mellow,  soften,  ele- 
vate, develop,  and  at  last  awaken  a  desire  for  my  society, 


"WHAT  IS    TO    BECOME   OF   ME?"  129 

then  yearnings.  My  first  error  was  in  not  giving  myself 
time  to  make  a  proper  impression.  He  will  soon  begin  to 
yield  like  the  earth  without.  First  it  is  hard  and  frosty, 
then  it  is  cold  and  muddy,  if  I  may  permit  myself  so  dis- 
agreeable an  illustration.  Now  he  is  becoming  mellow,  and 
soon  every  word  I  utter  will  be  like  good  seed  in  good 
ground.  How  aptly  it  all  fits.  I  have  only  to  be  patient." 

She  was  finally  left  almost  to  utter  idleness,  for  Jane  and 
Mrs.  Wiggins  gradually  took  from  the  incompetent  hands 
even  the  light  tasks  which  she  had  attempted.  She  made 
no  protest,  regarding  all  as  another  proof  that  Holcroft  was 
beginning  to  recognize  her  superiority  and  unfitness  for 
menial  tasks.  She  would  maintain,  however,  her  character 
as  the  caretaker  and  ostentatiously  inspected  everything; 
she  also  tried  to  make  as  much  noise  in  fastening  up  the 
dwelling  at  night  as  if  she  were  barricading  a  castle.  Hol- 
croft would  listen  grimly,  well  aware  that  no  house  had  been 
entered  in  Oakville  during  his  memory.  He  had  taken  an 
early  occasion  to  say  at  the  table  that  he  wished  no  one  to 
enter  his  room  except  Jane,  and  that  he  would  not  permit 
any  infringement  of  this  rule.  Mrs.  Mumpson's  feelings 
had  been  hurt  at  first  by  this  order,  but  she  soon  satisfied 
herself  that  it  had  been  meant  for  Mrs.  Wiggins's  benefit  and 
not  her  own.  She  found,  however,  that  Jane  interpreted  it 
literally.  "If  either  of  you  set  foot  in  that  room  I'll  tell 
him,"  she  said,  flatly.  "I've  had  my  orders  and  I'm  a-goin' 
to  obey.  There's  to  be  no  more  rummagin'.  If  you'll  give 
me  the  keys  I'll  put  things  back  in  order  ag'in." 

"Well,  I  won't  give  you  the  keys.  I'm  the  proper  per- 
son to  put  things  in  order  if  you  did  no  replace  them  prop- 
erly. You  are  just-making  an  excuse  to  rummage  yourself. 
My  motive  for  inspecting  is  very  different  from  yours." 

"Shouldn't  wonder  if  you  was  sorry  some  day,"  the  girl 
had  remarked,  and  so  the  matter  had  dropped  and  been  for- 
gotten. 

Holcroft  solaced  himself  with  the  fact  that  Jane  and 
Mrs.  Wiggins  served  his  meals  regularly  and  looked  after  the 


130  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

dairy  with  better  care  than  it  had  received  since  his  wife 
died.  "If  I  had  only  those  two  in  the  house  I  could  get 
along  first-rate,"  he  thought.  "After  the  three  months  are 
up  I'll  try  to  make  such  an  arrangement.  I'd  pay  the 
mother  and  send  her  off  now,  but  if  I  did,  Lemuel  Weeks 
would  put  her  up  to  a  lawsuit." 

April  days  brought  the  longed-for  plowing  and  planting, 
and  the  farmer  was  so  busy  and  absorbed  in  his  work  that 
Mrs.  Mumpson  had  less  and  less  place  in  his  thoughts,  even 
as  a  thorn  in  the  flesh.  One  bright  afternoon,  however, 
chaos  came  again  unexpectedly.  Mrs.  Wiggins  did  not 
suggest  a  volatile  creature,  yet  such,  alas!  she  was.  She 
apparently  exhaled  and  was  lost,  leaving  no  trace.  The  cir- 
cumstances of  her  disappearance  permit  of  a  very  matter-of- 
fact  and  not  very  creditable  explanation.  On  the  day  in 
question  she  prepared  an  unusually  good  dinner,  and  the 
farmer  had  enjoyed  it  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Mumpson's  presence 
and  desultory  remarks.  The  morning  had  been  fine  and 
he  had  made  progress  in  his  early  spring  work.  Mrs.  Wig- 
gins felt  that  her  hour  and  opportunity  had  come.  Follow- 
ing him  to  the  door,  she  said  in  a  low  tone  and  yet  with  a 
decisive  accent,  as  if  she  was  claiming  a  right,  "Master,  hi'd 
thank  ye  for  me  two  weeks'  wages." 

He  unsuspectingly  and  unhesitatingly  gave  it  to  her, 
thinking,  "That's  the  way  with  such  people.  They  want  to 
be  paid  often  and  be  sure  of  their  money.  She'll  work  all 
the  better  for  having  it." 

Mrs.  Wiggins  knew  the  hour  when  the  stage  passed  the 
house;  she  had  made  up  a  bundle  without  a  very  close 
regard  to  meum  or  tuum,  and  was  ready  to  flit.  The  chance 
speedily  came. 

The  "caretaker"  was  rocking  in  the  parlor  and  would  dis- 
dain to  look,  while  Jane  had  gone  out  to  help  plant  some 
early  potatoes  on  a  warm  hillside.  The  coast  was  clear. 
Seeing  the  stage  coming,  the  old  woman  waddled  down  the 
lane  at  a  remarkable  pace,  paid  her  fare  to  town,  and  the 
Holcroft  kitchen  knew  her  no  more.  That  she  found  the 


"WHAT  IS    TO   BECOME   OF  MEf"  131 

"friend"  she  had  wished  to  see  on  her  way  out  to  the  farm, 
and  that  this  friend  brought  her  quickly  under  Tom  Wat- 
terly's  care  again,  goes  without  saying. 

As  the  shadows  lengthened  and  the  robins  became  tune- 
ful, Holcroft  said,  "You've  done  well,  Jane.  Thank  you. 
Now  you  can  go  back  to  the  house." 

The  child  soon  returned  in  breathless  haste  to  the  field 
where  the  farmer  was  covering  the  potato  pieces  she  had 
dropped,  and  cried,  ''Mrs.  Wiggins's  gone." 

Like  a  flash,  the  woman's  motive  in  asking  for  her  wages 
occurred  to  him,  but  he  started  for  the  house  to  assure 
himself  of  the  truth.  "Perhaps  she's  in  the  cellar,"  he  said, 
remembering  the  cider  barrel,  "or  she's  out  for  a  walk." 

"No,  she  ain't,"  persisted  Jane.  "I've  looked  every- 
where and  all  over  the  barn,  and  she  ain't  nowhere.  Mother 
hain't  seen  her,  nuther." 

With  dreary  misgivings,  Holcroft  remembered  that  he 
no  longer  had  a  practical  ally  in  the  old  Englishwoman,  and 
he  felt  that  a  new  breaking  up  was  coming.  He  looked  wist- 
fully at  Jane,  and  thought,  "I  could  get  along  with  that  child 
if  the  mother  was  away.  But  that  can't  be ;  she'd  visit  here 
indefinitely  if  Jane  stayed." 

When  Mrs.  Mumpson  learned  from  Jane  of  Mrs.  Wig- 
gins's disappearance,  she  was  thrown  into  a  state  of  strong 
excitement.  She  felt  that  her  hour  and  opportunity  might 
be  near  also,  and  she  began  to  rock  very  fast.  "What  else 
could  he  expect  of  such  a  female?"  she  soliloquized.  "I've 
no  doubt  but  she's  taken  things,  too.  He'll  now  learn  my 
value  and  what  it  is  to  have  a  caretaker  who  will  never 
desert  him." 

Spirits  and  courage  rose  with  the  emergency;  her 
thoughts  hurried  her  along  like  a  dry  leaf  caught  in  a  March 
gale.  "Yes,"  she  murmured,  "the  time  has  come  for  me  to 
act,  to  dare,  to  show  him.  in  his  desperate  need  and  hour  of 
desertion  what  might  be,  may  be,  must  be.  He  will  now 
see  clearly  the  difference  between  these  peculiar  females 
who  come  and  go,  and  a  respecterble  woman  and  a  mother 


132  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

who  can  be  depended  upon — one  who  will  never  steal  away 
like  a  thief  in  the  night." 

She  saw  Holcroft  approaching  the  house  with  Jane;  she 
heard  him  ascend  to  Mrs.  Wiggins's  room,  then  return  to  the 
kitchen  and  ejaculate,  "Yes,  she's  gone,  sure  enough." 

"Now,  act,"  murmured  the  widow,  and  she  rushed  to- 
ward the  farmer  with  clasped  hands,  and  cried  with  emotion, 
"Yes,  she's  gone ;  but  I'm  not  gone.  You  are  not  deserted. 
Jane  will  minister  to  you;  I  will  be  the  caretaker,  and  our 
home  will  be  all  the  happier  because  that  monstrous  creature 
is  absent.  Dear  Mr.  Holcroft,  don't  be  so  blind  to  your  own 
interests  and  happiness,  don't  remain  undeveloped.  Every- 
thing is  wrong  here  if  you  would  but  see  it.  You  are  lonely 
and  desolate.  Moth  and  rust  have  entered,  things  in  un- 
opened drawers  and  closets  are  moulding  and  going  to  waste. 
Yield  to  true  female  influence  and — " 

Holcroft  had  been  rendered  speechless  at  first  by  this 
onslaught,  but  the  reference  to  unopened  drawers  and  clos- 
ets awakened  a  sudden  suspicion.  Had  she  dared  to  touch 
what  had  belonged  to  his  wife?  "What!"  he  exclaimed 
sharply,  interrupting  her ;  then  with  an  expression  of  disgust 
and  anger,  he  passed  her  swiftly  and  went  to  his  room.  A 
moment  later  came  the  stern  summons,  "Jane,  come  here." 

"Now  you'll  see  what'll  come  of  that  rummagin',"  whim- 
pered Jane.  "You  ain't  got  no  sense  at  all  to  go  at  him 
so.  He's  jus'  goin'  to  put  us  right  out,"  and  she  went  up- 
stairs as  if  to  execution. 

"Have  I  failed?"  gasped  Mrs.  Mumpson,  and  retreating 
to  the  chair,  she  rocked  nervously. 

"Jane,"  said  Holcroft,  in  hot  anger,  "my  wife's  things 
have  been  pulled  out  of  her  bureau  and  stuffed  back  again 
as  if  they  were  no  better  than  dishcloths.  Who  did  it?" 

The  child  now  began  to  cry  aloud.  "There,  there,"  he 
said,  with  intense  irritation,  "I  can't  trust  you  either." 

"I  hain't — touched  'em — since  you  told  me — told  me 
—not  to  do  things  on  the  sly,"  the  girl  sobbed,  brokenly; 
but  he  had  closed  the  door  upon  her,  and  did  not  hear. 


"WHAT  IS    TO    BECOME   OF  ME?"  133 

He  could  have  forgiven  her  almost  anything  but  this. 
Since  she  only  had  been  permitted  to  take  care  of  his  room, 
he  naturally  thought  that  she  committeed  the  sacrilege,  and 
her  manner  had  confirmed  this  impression.  Of  course  the 
mother  had  been  present  and  probably  had  assisted;  but 
he  had  expected  nothing  better  of  her. 

He  took  the  things  out,  folded  and  smoothed  them  as 
carefully  as  he  could  with  his  heavy  hands  and  clumsy 
fingers.  His  gentle,  almost  reverent  touch  was  in  strange 
contrast  with  his  flushed,  angry  face  and  gleaming  eyes. 
"This  is  the  worst  that's  happened  yet,"  he  muttered.  "Oh, 
Lemuel  Weeks,  it's  well  you  are  not  here  now,  or  we  might 
both  have  cause  to  be  sorry.  It  was  you  who  put  these  pry- 
ing, and  for  all  I  know,  thieving  creatures  into  my  house, 
and  it  was  as  mean  a  trick  as  ever  one  man  played  another. 
You  and  this  precious  cousin  of  yours  thought  you  could 
bring  about  a  marriage;  you  put  her  up  to  her  ridiculous 
antics.  Faugh !  the  very  thought  of  it  all  makes  me  sick." 

"Oh,  mother,  what  shall  I  do?"  Jane  cried,  rushing  into 
the  parlor  and  throwing  herself  on  the  floor,  "he's  goin'  to 
put  us  right  out." 

"He  can't  put  me  out  before  the  three  months  are  up," 
quavered  the  widow. 

"Yes  he  can.  We've  been  a-rummagin'  where  we'd  no 
biznisa  to  be.  He's  mad  enough  to  do  anything;  he  jes' 
looks  awful;  I'm  afraid  of  him." 

"Jane,"  said  her  mother,  plaintively,  "I  feel  indisposed. 
I  think  I'll  retire." 

"Yes,  that's  the  way  with  you"  sobbed  the  child.  "You 
got  me  into  the  scrape  and  now  you  retire." 

Mrs.  Mumpson's  confidence  in  herself  and  her  schemes 
was  terribly  shaken.  "I  must  act  very  discreetly.  I  must 
be  alone  that  I  may  think  over  these  untoward  events.  Mr. 
Holcroft  has  been  so  warped  by  the  past  female  influences 
of  his  life  that  there's  no  counting  on  his  action.  He  taxes 
me  sorely,"  she  explained,  and  then  ascended  the  stairs. 

"Oh !  oh !"  moaned  the  child,  as  she  writhed  on  the  floor, 


134  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"Mother  ain't  got  no  sense  at  all.  What  is  goin'  to  become 
of  me?  I'd  ruther  hang  about  his  barn  than  go  back  to 
cousin  Lemuel's  or  any  other  cousin's." 

Spurned  by  one  hope,  she  at  last  sprang  up  and  went  to 
the  kitchen.  It  was  already  growing  dark,  and  she  lighted 
the  lamp,  kindled  the  fire,  and  began  getting  supper  with 
breathless  energy. 

As  far  as  he  could  discover,  Holcroft  was  satisfied  that 
nothing  had  been  taken.  In  this  respect  he  was  right.  Mrs. 
Mumpson's  curiosity  and  covetousness  were  boundless,  but 
she  would  not  steal.  There  are  few  who  do  not  draw  the 
line  somewhere. 

Having  tried  to  put  the  articles  back  as  they  were  before, 
he  locked  them  up,  and  went  hastily  down  and  out,  feeling 
that  he  must  regain  his  self-control  and  decide  upon  his 
future  action  at  once.  "I  will  then  carry  out  my  purposes 
in  a  way  that  will  give  the  Weeks  tribe  no  chance  to  make 
trouble." 

As  he  passed  the  kitchen  windows  he  saw  Jane  rushing 
about  as  if  possessed,  and  he  stopped  to  watch  her.  It  soon 
became  evident  that  she  was  trying  to  get  his  supper.  His 
heart  relented  at  once  in  spite  of  himself.  "The  poor, 
wronged  child!"  he  muttered.  "Why  should  I  be  so  hard 
on  her  for  doing  what  she's  been  brought  up  to  do  ?  Well, 
well,  it's  too  bad  to  send  her  away,  but  I  can't  help  it.  I'd 
lose  my  own  reason  if  the  mother  was  here  much  longer, 
and  if  I  kept  Jane,  her  idiotic  mother  would  stay  in  spite  of 
me.  If  she  didn't  there'd  be  endless  talk  and  lawsuits,  too, 
like  enough,  about  separating  parent  and  child.  Jane's  too 
young  and  little,  anyway,  to  be  here  alone  and  do  the  work. 
But  I'm  sorry  for  her,  I  declare  I  am,  and  I  wish  I  could  do 
something  to  give  her  a  chance  in  the  world.  If  my  wife 
was  only  living  we'd  take  and  bring  her  up,  disagreeable 
and  homely  as  she  is;  but  there's  no  use  of  my  trying  to  do 
anything  alone.  I  fear,  after  all,  that  I  shall  have  to  give 
up  the  old  place  and  go — I  don't  know  where.  What  is 
to  become  of  her?" 


MRS.   MUMPSON'S    VICISSITUDES  135 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MRS.  MUMPSON'S  VICISSITUDES 

HAVING  completed  her  preparations  for  supper,  Jane 
stole  timidly  up  to  Holcroft's  room  to  summon  him. 
Her  first  rap  on  his  door  was  scarcely  audible,  then 
she  ventured  to  knock  louder  and  finally  to  call  him,  but 
there  was  no  response.  Full  of  vague  dread  she  went  to  her 
mother's  room  and  said,  "He  won't  answer  me ;  he's  so  awful 
mad  that  I  don't  know  what  he'll  do." 

"I  think  he  has  left  his  apartment,"  her  mother  moaned 
from  the  bed. 

"Why  couldn't  yer  tell  me  so  before?"  cried  Jane. 
"What  yer  gone  to  bed  for?  If  you'd  only  show  some 
sense  and  try  to  do  what  he  brought  you  here  for,  like 
enough  he'd  keep  us  yet." 

"My  heart's  too  crushed,  Jane — " 

"Oh,  bother,  bother!"  and  the  child  rushed  away.  She 
looked  into  the  dark  parlor  and  called,  "Mr.  Holcroft!" 
Then  she  appeared  in  the  kitchen  again,  the  picture  of  un- 
couth distress  and  perplexity.  A  moment  later  she  opened 
the  door  and  darted  toward  the  barn. 

"What  do  you  wish,  Jane?"  said  Holcroft,  emerging 
from  a  shadowy  corner  and  recalling  her. 

"Sup — supper's — ready,"  sobbed  the  child. 

He  came  in  and  sat  down  at  the  table,  considerably  ap- 
pearing not  to  notice  her  until  she  had  a  chance  to  recover 
composure.  She  vigorously  used  the  sleeves  of  both  arms 
in  drying  her  eyes,  then  stole  in  and  found  a  seat  in  a  dusky 
corner. 


136  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"Why  don't  you  come  to  supper?"  he  asked  quietly. 

"Don't  want  any." 

"You  had  better  take  some  up  to  your  mother." 

"She  oughtn't  to  have  any." 

"That  doesn't  make  any  difference.  I  want  you  to  take 
up  something  to  her,  and  then  come  down  and  eat  your  sup- 
per like  a  sensible  girl." 

"I  ain't  been  sensible,  nor  mother  nuther." 

"Do  as   I    say,    Jane."     The    child    obeyed,    but    she 
couldn't  swallow  anything  but  a  little  coffee. 

Holcroft  was  in  a  quandary.  He  had  not  the  gift  of 
speaking  soothing  yet  meaningless  words,  and  was  too  hon- 
est to  raise  false  hopes.  He  was  therefore  almost  as  silent 
and  embarrassed  as  Jane  herself.  To  the  girl's  furtive 
scrutiny,  he  did  not  seem  hardened  against  her,  and  she  at 
last  ventured,  "Say,  I  didn't  touch  them  drawers  after  you 
told  me  not  to  do  anything  on  the  sly." 

"When  were  they  opened?  Now  tell  me  the  truth, 
Jane." 

"Mother  opened  them  the  first  day  you  left  us  alone.  I 
told  her  you  wouldn't  like  it,  but  she  said  she  was  house- 
keeper; she  said  how  it  was  her  duty  to  inspect  everything. 
I  wanted  to  inspect  too.  We  was  jest  rummagin' — that's 
what  it  was.  After  the  things  were  all  pulled  out,  mother 
got  the  rocker  and  wouldn't  do  anything.  It  was  gettin' 
late,  and  I  was  frightened  and  poked  'em  back  in  a  hurry. 
Mother  wanted  to  rummage  ag'in  the  other  day  and  I 
wouldn't  let  her;  then  she  wouldn't  let  me  have  the  keys, 
so  I  could  fix  'em  up." 

"But  the  keys  were  in  my  pocket,  Jane." 

"Mother  has  a  lot  of  keys.  I've  told  you  jes'  how  it  all 
was." 

"Nothing  was  taken  away?" 

"No.  Mother  ain't  got  sense,  but  she  never  takes  things. 
I  nuther  'cept  when  I'm  hungry.  Never  took  anything 
here.  Say,  are  you  goin'  to  send  us  away?" 

"I  fear  I  shall  have  to,  Jane.     I'm  sorry  for  you,  for  I 


MRS.  MUMPSON'S    VICISSITUDES  137 

believe  you  would  try  to  do  the  best  you  could  if  given  a 
chance,  and  I  can.  see  you  never  had  a  chance." 

"No,"  said  the  child,  blinking  hard  to  keep  the  tears  out 
of  her  eyes.  "I  ain't  had  no  teachin'.  I've  jes'  kinder 
growed  along  with  the  farm  hands  and  rough  boys.  Them 
that  didn't  hate  me  teased  me.  Say,  couldn't  I  stay  in  your 
barn  and  sleep  in  the  hay?" 

Holcroft  was  sorely  perplexed  and  pushed  away  his  half- 
eaten  supper.  He  knew  himself  what  it  was  to  be  friendless 
and  lonely,  and  his  heart  softened  toward  this  worse  than 
motherless  child. 

"Jane,"  he  said,  kindly,  "I'm  just  as  sorry  for  you  as  I 
can  be,  but  you  don't  know  the  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
what  you  wish  and  I  fear  I  can't  make  you  understand  them. 
Indeed,  it  would  not  be  best  to  tell  you  all  of  them.  If  I 
could  keep  you  at  all,  you  should  stay  in  the  house,  and  I'd 
be  kind  to  you,  but  it  can't  be.  I  may  not  stay  here  myself. 
My  future  course  is  very  uncertain.  There's  no  use  of  my 
trying  to  go  on  as  I  have.  Perhaps  some  day  I  can  do 
something  for  you,  and  if  I  can,  I  will.  I  will  pay  your 
mother  her  three  months'  wages  in  full  in  the  morning,  and 
then  I  want  you  both  to  get  your  things  into  your  trunk, 
and  I'll  take  you  to  your  cousin  Lemuel's." 

Driven  almost  to  desperation,  Jane  suggested  the  only 
scheme  she  could  think  of.  "If  you  stayed  here  and  I  run 
away  and  came  back,  wouldn't  you  keep  me?  I'd  work  all 
day  and  all  night  jes'  for  the  sake  of  stayin'." 

"No,  Jane,"  said  Holcroft,  firmly,  "you'd  make  me  no 
end  of  trouble  if  you  did  that.  If  you'll  be  a  good  girl  and 
learn  how  to  do  things,  I'll  try  to  find  you  a  place  among 
kind  people  some  day  when  you're  older  and  can  act  for 
yourself." 

"You're  afraid  'fi's  here  mother'd  come  a-visitin',"  said 
the  girl,  keenly. 

"You're  too  young  to  -understand  half  the  trouble  that 
might  follow.  My  plans  are  too  uncertain  for  me  to  tangle 
myself  up.  You  and  your  mother  must  go  away  at  once,  so 


138  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

I  can  do  what  I  must  do  before  it's  too  late  in  the  season. 
Here's  a  couple  of  dollars  which  you  can  keep  for  yourself," 
and  he  went  up  to  his  room,  feeling  that  he  could  not  witness 
the  child's  distress  any  longer. 

He  fought  hard  against  despondency  and  tried  to  face  the 
actual  condition  of  his  affairs.  "I  might  have  known,"  he 
thought,  "that  things  would  have  turned  out  somewhat  as 
they  have,  with  such  women  in  the  house,  and  I  don't  see 
much  chance  of  getting  better  ones.  I've  been  so  bent  on 
staying  and  going  on  as  I  used  to  that  I've  just  shut  my  eyes 
to  the  facts."  He  got  out  an  old  account  book  and  pored 
over  it  a  long  time.  The  entries  therein  were  blind  enough, 
but  at  last  he  concluded,  "It's  plain  that  I've  lost  money  on 
the  dairy  ever  since  my  wife  died,  and  the  prospects  now  are 
worse  than  ever.  That  Weeks  tribe  will  set  the  whole  town 
talking  against  me  and  it  will  be  just  about  impossible  to  get 
a  decent  woman  to  come  here.  I  might  as  well  have  an  auc- 
tion and  sell  all  the  cows  but  one,  at  once.  After  that,  if 
I  find  I  can't  make  out  living  alone,  I'll  put  the  place  in 
better  order  and  sell  or  rent.  I  can  get  my  own  meals  after 
a  fashion,  and  old  Jonathan  Johnson's  wife  will  do  my  wash- 
ing and  mending.  It's  time  it  was  done  better  than  it  has 
been,  for  some  of  my  clothes  make  me  look  like  a  scarecrow. 
I  believe  Jonathan  will  come  with  his  cross  dog  and  stay 
here  too,  when  I  must  be  away.  Well,  well,  it's  a  hard  lot 
for  a  man ;  but  I'd  be  about  as  bad  off,  and  a  hundred  fold 
more  lonely,  if  I  went  anywhere  else.  I  can  only  feel  my 
way  along  and  live  a  day  at  a  time.  I'll  learn  what  can  be 
done  and  what  can't  be.  One  thing  is  clear;  I  can't  go  on 
with  this  Mrs.  Mumpson  in  the  house  a  day  longer.  She 
makes  me  creep  and  crawl,  all  over,  and  the  first  thing  I 
know  I  shall  be  swearing  like  a  bloody  pirate  unless  I  get 
rid  of  her.  If  she  wasn't  such  a  hopeless  idiot  I'd  let  her 
stay  for  the  sake  of  Jane,  but  I  won't  pay  her  good  wages 
to  make  my  life  a  burden  a  day  longer,"  and  with  like  self- 
communings  he  spent  the  evening  until  the  habit  of  early 
drowsiness  overcame  him. 


MBS.  MUMPSON'S    VICISSITUDES  139 

The  morning  found  Jane  dispirited  and  a  little  sullen,  as 
older  and  wiser  people  are  apt  to  be  when  disappointed. 
She  employed  herself  in  getting  breakfast  carelessly  and 
languidly,  and  the  result  was  not  satisfactory. 

"Where's  your  mother  ?"  Holcroft  asked  when  he  came  in. 

"She  told  me  to  tell  you  she  was  indisposed." 

"Indisposed  to  go  to  Lemuel  Weeks's  ?" 

"I  'spect  she  means  she's  sick." 

He  frowned  and  looked  suspiciously  at  the  girl.  Here 
was  a  new  complication,  and  very  possibly  a  trick. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her  ?" 

"Dunno." 

"Well,  she  had  better  get  well  enough  to  go  by  this  after- 
noon," he  remarked,  controlling  his  irritation  with  difficulty, 
and  nothing  more  was  said. 

Full  of  his  new  plans,  he  spent  a  busy  forenoon  and  then 
came  to  dinner.  It  was  the  same  old  story.  He  went  up 
and  knocked  at  Mrs.  Mumpson's  door,  saying  that  he  wished 
to  speak  to  her. 

"I'm  too  indisposed  to  transact  business,"  she  replied 
feebly. 

"You  must  be  ready  to-morrow  morning,"  he  called.  "I 
have  business  plans  which  can't  be  delayed,"  and  he  turned 
away  muttering  rather  sulphurous  words. 

"He  will  relent;  his  hard  heart  will  soften  at  last — " 
But  we  shall  not  weary  the  reader  with  the  long  soliloquies 
with  which  she  beguiled  her  politic  seclusion,  as  she  regarded 
it.  Poor,  unsophisticated  Jane  made  matters  worse.  The 
condition  of  life  among  her  much-visited  relatives  now  ex- 
isted again.  She  was  not  wanted,  and  her  old  sly,  sullen,  and 
furtive  manner  reasserted  itself.  Much  of  Holcroft's  sym- 
pathy was  thus  alienated,  yet  he  partially  understood  and 
pitied  her.  It  became,  however,  all  the  more  clear  that  he 
must  get  rid  of  both  mother  and  child,  and  that  further  rela- 
tions with  either  of  them  could  only  lead  to  trouble. 

The  following  morning  only  Jane  appeared.  "Is  your 
mother  really  sick?"  he  asked. 


140  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

"S'pose  so,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"You  haven't  taken  much  pains  with  the  breakfast, 
Jane." 

"  'Taint  no  use." 

With  knitted  brows  he  thought  deeply,  and  silently  ate  the 
wretched  meal  which  had  been  prepared.  Then,  remark- 
ing that  he  might  do  some  writing,  he  went  up  to  a  small 
attic  room  which  had  been  used  occasionally  by  a  hired  man. 
It  contained  a  covered  pipe-hole  leading  into  the  chimney- 
flue.  Removing  the  cover,  he  stopped  up  the  flue  with  an  old 
woollen  coat.  "I  suppose  I'll  have  to  meet  tricks  with 
tricks,"  he  muttered. 

Returning  to  his  own  apartment,  he  lighted  a  fire  in  the 
stove  and  laid  upon  the  kindling  blaze  some  dampened  wood, 
then  went  out  and  quietly  hitched  his  horses  to  the  wagon. 

The  pungent  odor  of  smoke  soon  filled  the  house.  The 
cover  over  the  pipehole  in  Mrs.  Mumpson's  room  was  not 
very  secure,  and  thick  volumes  began  to  pour  in  upon  the 
startled  widow.  "Jane !"  she  shrieked. 

If  Jane  was  sullen  toward  Holcrof t,  she  was  furious  at  her 
mother,  and  paid  no  heed  at  first  to  her  cry. 

"Jane,  Jane,  the  house  is  on  fire !" 

Then  the  child  did  fly  up  the  stairway.  The  smoke 
seemed  to  confirm  the  words  of  her  mother,  who  was  dressing 
in  hot  haste.  "Run  and  tell  Mr.  Holcroft,"  she  cried. 

"I  won't,"  said  the  girL  "If  he  won't  keep  us  in  the 
house  I  don't  care  if  he  don't  have  any  house." 

"No,  no,  tell  him,"  screamed  Mrs.  Mumpson.  "If  we 
save  his  house  he  will  relent  Gratitude  will  overwhelm 
him.  So  far  from  turning  us  away,  he  will  sue,  he  will  plead 
for  forgiveness  for  his  former  harshness ;  his  home  saved  will 
be  our  home  won.  Just  put  our  things  in  the  trunk  first. 
Perhaps  the  house  can't  be  saved,  and  you  know  we  must 
save  our  things.  Help  me,  quick.  There,  there  now,  now — " 
both  were  sneezing  and  choking  in  a  half-strangled  manner. 
"Now  let  me  lock  it;  my  hand  trembles  so;  take  hold  and 


MRS.  MUMPSON' S    VICISSITUDES  141 

drag  it  out;  drag  it  downstairs;  no  matter  how  it  scratches 
things !" 

Having  reached  the  hall  below,  she  opened  the  door  and 
shrieked  for  Holcroft;  Jane  also  began  running  toward  the 
barn.  The  farmer  came  hastily  out,  and  shouted,  "What's 
the  matter  ?" 

"The  house  is  on  fire !"  they  screamed  in  chorus. 

To  carry  out  his  ruse,  he  ran  swiftly  to  the  house.  Mrs. 
Mumpson  stood  before  him  wringing  her  hands  and  crying, 
"O  dear  Mr.  Holcroft,  can't  I  do  anything  to  help  you?  I 
would  so  like  to  help  you  and — " 

"Yes,  my  good  woman,  let  me  get  in  the  door  and  see 
what's  the  matter.  Oh,  here's  your  trunk.  That's  sensible. 
Better  get  it  outside,"  and  he  went  up  the  stairs  two  steps 
at  a  time  and  rushed  into  his  room. 

"Jane,  Jane,"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Mumpson,  sinking  on  a 
seat  in  the  porch,  "he  called  me  his  good  woman !"  But  Jane 
was  busy  dragging  the  trunk  out  of  doors.  Having  secured 
her  own  and  her  mother's  worldly  possessions,  she  called, 
"Shall  I  bring  water  and  carry  things  out  ?" 

"N"o,"  he  replied,  "not  yet.  There's  something  the  mat- 
ter with  the  chimney,"  and  he  hastened  up  to  the  attic  room, 
removed  the  clog  from  the  flue,  put  on  the  cover  again,  and 
threw  open  the  window.  Returning,  he  locked  the  door  of 
the  room  which  Mrs.  Mumpson  had  occupied  and  came  down- 
stairs. "I  must  get  a  ladder  and  examine  the  chimney,"  he 
said  as  he  passed. 

"Oh,  my  dear  Mr.  Holcroft,"  the  widow  began. 

"Can't  talk  with  you  yet,"  and  he  hastened  on. 

"As  soon  as  he's  sure  the  house  is  safe,  Jane,  all  will  be 
well."  But  the  girl  had  grown  hopeless  and  cynical.  She 
had  not  penetrated  his  scheme  to  restore  her  mother  to  health, 
but  understood  the  man  well  enough  to  be  sure  that  her 
mother's  hopes  would  end  as  they  had  in  the  past.  She  sat 
down  apathetically  on  the  trunk  to  see  what  would  happen 
next. 

After  a  brief  inspection  Holcroft  came  down  from  the 


142  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

roof  and  said,  "The  chimney  will  have  to  be  repaired,"  which 
was  true  enough  and  equally  so  of  other  parts  of  the  dwelling. 
The  fortunes  of  the  owner  were  reflected  in  the  appearance 
of  the  building. 

If  it  were  a  possible  thing  Holcroft  wished  to  carry  out 
his  ruse  undetected,  and  he  hastened  upstairs  again,  ostensi- 
bly to  see  that  all  danger  had  passed,  but  in  reality  to  prepare 
his  mind  for  an  intensely  disagreeable  interview.  "I'd 
rather  face  a  mob  of  men  than  that  one  idiotic  woman,"  he 
muttered.  "I  could  calculate  the  actions  of  a  setting  hen 
with  her  head  cut  off  better  than  I  can  this  widow's.  But 
there's  no  help  for  it,"  and  he  came  down  looking  very  reso- 
lute. "I've  let  the  fire  in  my  stove  go  out,  and  there's  no 
more  danger,"  he  said,  quietly,  as  he  sat  down  on  the  porch 
opposite  Mrs.  Mumpson. 

"Oh-h,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  long  breath  of  relief, 
"we've  saved  the  dwelling.  What  would  we  have  done  if 
it  had  burned  down !  We  would  have  been  homeless." 

"That  may  be  my  condition  soon",  as  it  is,"  he  said, 
coldly.  "I  am  very  glad,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  that  you  are  so 
much  better.  As  Jane  told  you,  I  suppose,  I  will  pay  you  the 
sum  I  agreed  to  give  you  for  three  months'  service — " 

"My  dear  Mr.  Holcroft,  my  nerves  have  been  too  shaken 
to  talk  business  this  morning,"  and  the  widow  leaned  back 
and  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint.  "I'm  only  a  poor 
lone  woman,"  she  added  feebly,  "and  you  cannot  be  so  lacking 
in  the  milk  of  human  kindness  as  to  take  advantage  of  me." 

"No,  madam,  nor  shall  I  allow  you  and  Lemuel  Weeks  to 
take  advantage  of  me.  This  is  my  house  and  I  have  a  right 
to  make  my  own  arrangements." 

"It  might  all  be  arranged  so  easily  in  another  way," 
sighed  the  widow. 

"It  cannot  be  arranged  in  any  other  way — "  he  began. 

"Mr.  Holcroft,"  she  cried,  leaning  suddenly  forward  with 
clasped  hands  and  speaking  effusively,  "you  but  now  called 
me  your  good  woman.  Think  how  much  those  words  mean. 


MRS.  MUHPSON'S    VICISSITUDES  143 

Make  them  true,  now  that  you've  spoken  them.  Then  you 
won't  be  homeless  and  will  never  need  a  caretaker." 

"Are  you  making  me  an  offer  of  marriage?"  he  asked 
with  a  lowering  brow. 

"Oh,  no,  indeed!"  she  simpered.  "That  wouldn't  be 
becoming  in  me.  I'm  only  responding  to  your  own  words." 

Rising,  he  said  sternly,  "No  power  on  earth  could  induce 
me  to  marry  you,  and  that  would  be  plain  enough  if  you 
were  in  your  right  mind.  I  shall  not  stand  this  foolishness 
another  moment.  You  must  go  with  me  at  once  to  Lemuel 
Weeks's.  If  you  will  not  I'll  have  you  taken  to  an  insane 
asylum." 

"To  an  insane  asylum!  What  for?"  she  half -shrieked, 
springing  to  her  feet. 

"You'll  see,"  he  replied,  going  down  the  steps.  "Jump 
up,  Jane. — I  shall  now  take  the  trunk  to  your  cousin's.  If 
you  are  so  crazy  as  to  stay  in  a  man's  house  when  he  don't 
want  you  and  won't  have  you,  you  are  fit  only  for  an  asylum." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  was  sane  enough  to  perceive  that  she  was 
at  the  end  of  her  adhesive  resources.  In  his  possession  of 
her  trunk,  the  farmer  also  had  a  strategic  advantage  which 
made  it  necessary  for  her  to  yield.  She  did  so,  however, 
with  very  bad  grace.  When  he  drove  up,  she  bounced  into 
the  wagon  as  if  made  of  india-rubber,  while  Jane  followed 
slowly,  with  a  look  of  sullen  apathy.  He  touched  his  horses 
with  the  whip  into  a  smart  trot,  scarcely  daring  to  believe  in 
his  good  fortune.  The  lane  was  rather  steep  and  rough,  and 
he  soon  had  to  pull  up  lest  the  object  of  his  unhappy  solici- 
tude should  be  jolted  out  of  the  vehicle.  This  gave  the 
widow  her  chance  to  open  fire.  "The  end  has  not  come 
yet,  Mr.  Holcroft,"  she  said,  vindictively.  "You  may  think 
you  are  going  to  have  an  easy  triumph  over  a  poor,  friend- 
less, unfortunate,  sensitive,  afflicted  woman  and  a  fatherless 
child,  but  you  shall  soon  learn  that  there's  a  law  in  the  land. 
You  have  addressed  improper  words  to  me,  you  have  threat- 
ened me,  you  have  broken  your  agreement.  I  have  writ- 
ings, I  have  a  memory,  I  have  language  to  plead  the  cause 


144  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless.  I  have  been  wronged,  out- 
raged, trampled  upon,  and  then  turned  out  of  doors.  The 
indignant  world  shall  hear  my  story,  the  finger  of  scorn  will 
be  pointed  at  you.  Your  name  will  become  a  by-word  and 
a  hissing.  Respecterble  women,  respecterbly  connected,  will 
stand  aloof  and  shudder." 

The  torrent  of  words  was  unchecked  except  when  the 
wheels  struck  a  stone,  jolting  her  so  severely  that  her  jaws 
came  together  with  a  click  as  if  she  were  snapping  at  him. 

He  made  no  reply  whatever,  but  longed  to  get  his  hands 
upon  Lemuel  Weeks.  Pushing  his  horses  to  a  high  rate  of 
speed,  he  soon  reached  that  interested  neighbor's  door,  in- 
tercepting him  just  as  he  was  starting  to  town. 

He  looked  very  sour  as  he  saw  his  wife's  relatives,  and 
demanded  harshly,  "What  does  this  mean  ?" 

"It  means,"  cried  Mrs.  Mumpson,  in  her  high,  cackling 
tones,  "that  he's  said  things  and  done  things  too  awful  to 
speak  of,  that  he's  broken  his  agreement  and  turned  us  out 
of  doors." 

"Jim  Holcroft,"  said  Mr.  Weeks,  blustering  up  to  the 
wagon,  "you  can't  carry  on  with  this  high  hand.  Take  these 
people  back  to  your  house  where  they  belong  or  you'll  be 
sorry." 

Holcroft  sprang  out,  whirled  Mr.  Weeks  out  of  his  way, 
took  out  the  trunk,  then  with  equal  expedition  and  no  more 
ceremony  lifted  down  Mrs.  Mumpson  and  Jane. 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  about?"  shouted  Mr.  Weeks 
in  a  rage.  "I'll  have  the  law  on  you  this  very  day." 

Holcroft  maintained  his  ominous  silence  as  he  hitched 
his  horses  securely.  Then  he  strode  toward  Weeks,  who 
backed  away  from  him.  "Oh,  don't  be  afraid,  you  sneaking, 
cowardly  fox,"  said  the  farmer,  bitterly.  "If  I  gave  you 
your  deserts,  I'd  take  my  horsewhip  to  you.  You're  going 
to  law  me,  are  you  ?  Well,  begin  to-day,  and  I'll  be  ready 
for  you.  I  won't  demean  myself  by  answering  that  woman, 
but  I'm  ready  for  you  in  any  way  you've  a  mind  to  come. 
I'll  put  you  and  your  wife  on  the  witness-stand.  I'll  sum- 


MRS.  MUMPSOWS    VICISSITUDES  145 

inon  cousin  Abiram,  as  you  call  him,  and  his  wife,  and 
compel  you  all  under  oath  to  give  Mrs.  Mumpson  a  few 
testimonials.  I'll  prove  the  trick  you  played  on  me  and  the 
lies  you  told.  I'll  prove  that  this  woman,  in  my  absence, 
invaded  my  room,  and  with  keys  of  her  own  opened  my 
dead  wife's  bureau  and  pulled  out  her  things.  I'll  prove 
that  she  hasn't  earned  her  salt,  and  can't,  and  may  prove 
something  more.  Now,  if  you  want  to  go  to  law,  begin. 
Nothing  would  please  me  better  than  to  show  up  you  and 
your  tribe.  I've  offered  to  pay  this  woman  her  three  months' 
wages  in  full  and  so  have  kept  my  agreement.  She  has  not 
kept  hers,  for  she's  only  sat  in  a  rocking-chair  and  made 
trouble.  Now,  do  as  you  please.  I'll  give  you  all  the  law 
you  want.  I'd  like  to  add  a  horse-whipping,  but  that  would 
give  you  a  case  and  now  you  haven't  any." 

As  Holcroft  uttered  these  words  sternly  and  slowly,  like 
a  man  angry  indeed  but  under  perfect  self-control,  the  per- 
spiration broke  out  on  Weeks's  face.  He  was  aware  that 
Mrs.  Mumpson  was  too  well  known  to  play  the  role  of  a 
wronged  woman,  and  remembered  what  his  testimony  and 
that  of  many  others  would  be  under  oath.  Therefore,  he 
began,  "Oh,  well,  Mr.  Holcroft,  there's  no  need  of  your 
getting  in  such  a  rage  and  threatening  so.  I'm  willing  to 
talk  the  matter  over  and  only  want  to  do  the  square  thing." 

The  farmer  made  a  gesture  of  disgust  as  he  said,  "I  un- 
derstand you,  Lemuel  Weeks.  There's  no  talking  needed 
and  I'm  in  no  mood  for  it.  Here's  the  money  I  agreed  to 
pay.  I'll  give  it  to  Mrs.  Mumpson  when  she  has  signed  this 
paper,  and  you've  signed  as  witness  of  her  signature.  Other- 
wise, it's  law.  Now  decide  quick.  I'm  in  a  hurry." 

Objections  were  interposed,  and  Holcroft,  returning  the 
money  to  his  pocket,  started  for  his  team  without  a  word. 
"Oh,  well,"  said  Weeks,  in  strong  irritation,  "I  haven't  time 
for  a  lawsuit  at  this  season  of  the  year.  You  are  both  cranks, 
and  I  suppose  it  would  be  best  for  me  and  my  folks  to  be  rid 
of  you  both.  It's  a  pity,  though,  you  couldn't  be  married 
and  left  to  fight  it  out." 
R_O— XVHI 


146  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

Holcroft  took  the  whip  from  his  wagon  and  said  quietly, 
"If  you  speak  another  insulting  word  I'll  horsewhip  you  and 
take  my  chances." 

Something  in  the  man's  look  prevented  Weeks  from  utter- 
ing another  unnecessary  remark.  The  business  was  soon 
transacted,  accompanied  with  Mrs.  Mumpson's  venomous 
words,  for  she  had  discovered  that  she  could  stigmatize 
Holcroft  with  impunity.  He  went  to  Jane  and  shook  her 
hand  as  he  said  good-by.  "I  am  sorry  for  you  and  I  won't 
forget  my  promise ;"  then  drove  rapidly  away. 

"Cousin  Lemuel,"  said  Mrs.  Mumpson,  plaintively, 
"won't  you  have  Timothy  take  my  trunk  to  our  room  ?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  he  snapped.  "You've  had  your  chance 
and  have  fooled  it  away.  I  was  just  going  to  town  and  you 
and  Jane  will  go  along  with  me,"  and  he  put  the  widow's 
trunk  into  his  wagon. 

Mrs.  Weeks  came  out  and  wiped  her  eyes  ostentatiously 
with  her  apron  as  she  whispered,  "I  can't  help  it,  Cynthy. 
When  Lemuel  goes  off  the  handle  in  this  way,  it's  no  use 
for  me  to  say  anything." 

Mrs.  Mumpson  wept  hysterically  as  she  was  driven  away. 
Jane's  sullen  and  apathetic  aspect  had  passed  away  in  part, 
for  Holcroft's  words  had  kindled  something  like  hope. 


A    MOMENTOUS   DECISION  147 


CHAPTER   XVII 

A     MOMENTOUS     DECISION 

IT  must  be  admitted  that  Holcroft  enjoyed  his  triumph 
over  Lemuel  Weeks  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  the 
aboriginal  man.  Indeed,  he  was  almost  sorry  he  had  not 
been  given  a  little  more  provocation,  knowing  well  that  had 
this  been  true  his  neighbor  would  have  received  a  fuller 
return  for  his  interested  efforts.  As  he  saw  his  farmhouse 
in  the  shimmering  April  sunlight,  as  the  old  churning  dog 
came  forward,  wagging  his  tail,  the  farmer  said,  "This  ia 
the  only  place  which  can  ever  be  home  to  me.  Well,  well, 
it's  queer  about  people.  Some,  when  they  go,  leave  you 
desolate ;  others  make  you  happy  by  their  absence.  I  never 
dreamed  that  silly  Mumpson  could  make  me  happy,  but  she 
has.  Blessed  if  I  don't  feel  happy !  The  first  time  in  a  year 
or  more!"  and  he  began  to  whistle  old  "Coronation"  in  the 
most  lively  fashion  as  he  unharnessed  his  horses. 

A  little  later,  he  prepared  Limself  a  good  dinner  and  ate 
it  in  leisurely  enjoyment,  sharing  a  morsel  now  and  then  with 
the  old  dog.  "You're  a  plaguy  sight  better  company  than 
she  was,"  he  mused.  "That  poor  little  stray  cat  of  a  Jane! 
What  will  become  of  her?  Well,  well,  soon  as  she's  old 
enough  to  cut  loose  from  her  mother  I'll  try  to  give  her  a 
chance,  if  it's  a  possible  thing." 

After  dinner,  he  made  a  rough  draught  of  an  auction  bill, 
offering  his  cows  for  sale,  muttering  as  he  did  so,  "Tom 
Watterly'll  help  me  put  it  in  better  shape."  Then  he  drove 
a  mile  away  to  see  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Johnson.  The  former 
agreed  for  a  small  sum  to  mount  guard  with  his  dog  during 


158  HE    FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"Alida  Armstrong  is  your  name,  Mr.  Watterly  tells  me  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  Alida,  I  want  to  have  a  plain  business  talk  with 
you.  That's  nothing  to  be  nervous  and  worried  about,  you 
know.  As  I  told  you,  I've  heard  your  story.  It  has  made 
me  sorry  for  you  instead  of  setting  me  against  you.  It  has 
made  me  respect  you  as  a  right-minded  woman,  and  I  shall 
give  you  good  proof  that  my  words  are  true.  At  the  same 
time,  I  shan't  make  any  false  pretences  to  what  isn't  true 
and  couldn't  be  true.  Since  I've  heard  your  story,  it's  only 
fair  you  should  hear  mine,  and  I  ought  to  tell  it  first." 

He  went  over  the  past  very  briefly  until  he  came  to  the 
death  of  his  wife.  There  was  simple  and  homely  pathos  in 
the  few  sentences  with  which  he  referred  to  this  event. 
Then  more  fully  he  enlarged  upon  his  efforts  and  failure  to 
keep  house  with  hired  help.  Unconsciously,  he  had  taken 
the  best  method  to  enlist  her  sympathy.  The  secluded  cot- 
tage and  hillside  farm  became  realities  to  her  fancy.  She 
saw  how  the  man's  heart  clung  to  his  home,  and  his  effort  to 
keep  it  touched  her  deeply. 

"Oh,"  she  thought,  "I  do  wish  there  was  some  way  for 
me  to  go  there.  The  loneliness  of  the  place  which  drove 
others  away  is  the  chief  attraction  for  me.  Then  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  work  for  such  a  man  and  make  his  home  com- 
fortable for  him.  It's  plain  from  his  words  and  looks  that 
he's  as  honest  and  straightforward  as  the  day  is  long.  He 
only  wants  to  keep  his  home  and  make  his  living  in  peace." 

As  he  had  talked,  her  nervous  embarrassment  passed 
away,  and  the  deep  sense  of  her  own  need  was  pressing  upon 
her  again.  She  saw  that  he  also  was  in  great  need.  His 
business  talk  was  revealing  deep  trouble  and  perplexity. 
With  the  quick  intuitions  of  a  woman,  her  mind  went  far 
beyond  his  brief  sentences,  and  saw  all  the  difficulties  of  his 
lot.  His  feeling  reference  to  the  loss  of  his  wife  proved  that 
he  was  not  a  coarse-natured  man.  As  he  spoke  so  plainly  of 
his  life  during  the  past  year,  her  mind  was  insensibly  ab- 
stracted from  everything  but  his  want  and  hers,  and  she 


HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND  159 

thought  his  farmhouse  afforded  just  the  secluded  refuge  she 
craved.  As  he  drew  near  the  end  of  his  story,  and  hesitated 
in  visible  embarrassment,  she  mustered  courage  to  say,  tim- 
idly, "Would  you  permit  a  suggestion  from  me  ?" 

"Why  certainly." 

"You  have  said,  sir,  that  your  business  and  means  would 
not  allow  you  to  keep  two  in  help,  and  as  you  have  been 
speaking  I  have  tried  to  think  of  some  way.  The  fact  that 
your  house  is  so  lonely  is  just  the  reason  why  I  should  like 
to  work  in  it.  As  you  can  understand,  I  have  no  wish  to 
meet  strangers.  Now,  sir,  I  am  willing  to  work  for  very  lit- 
tle ;  I  should  be  glad  to  find  such  a  quiet  refuge  for  simply  my 
board  and  clothes,  and  I  would  do  my  very  best  and  try  to 
learn  what  I  did  not  know.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I  worked 
for  so  little  you  might  think  you  could  afford  to  hire  some 
elderly  woman  also?"  and  she  looked  at  him  in  the  eager 
hope  that  he  would  accept  her  proposition. 

He  shook  his  head  as  he  replied,  "I  don't  know  of  any 
such  person.  I  took  the  best  one  in  this  house,  and  you 
know  how  she  turned  out." 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Watterly  may  know  of  some  one  else,"  she 
faltered.  She  was  now  deeply  troubled  and  perplexed  again, 
supposing  that  he  was  about  to  renew  his  first  proposition 
that  she  should  be  his  only  help. 

"If  Mr.  Watterly  did  know  of  any  one  I  would  make  the 
trial,  but  he  does  not.  Your  offer  is  very  considerate  and 
reasonable,  but — "  and  he  hesitated  again,  scarcely  knowing 
how  to  go  on. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,"  she  said,  rising,  as  if  to  end  the  inter- 
view. 

"Stay,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  understand  me  yet.  Of 
course  I  should  not  make  you  the  same  offer  that  I  did  at 
first,  after  seeing  your  feeling  about  it,  and  I  respect  you  all 
the  more  because  you  so  respect  yourself.  What  I  had  in 
mind  was  to  give  you  my  name,  and  it's  an  honest  name.  If 
v  were  married,  it  would  be  perfectly  proper  for  you  to  go 
with  me,  and  no  one  could  say  a  word  against  either  of  us." 


150  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    \V1FE 

thing  you  know  you'll  clap  a  mortgage  on  it.  Then  you'll 
soon  be  done  for.  What's  more,  you'll  break  down  if  you 
try  to  do  both  outdoor  and  indoor  work.  Busy  times  will 
soon  come,  and  you  won't  get  your  meals  regularly:  you'll 
be  living  on  coffee  and  anything  that  comes  handiest;  your 
house  will  grow  untidy  and  not  fit  to  live  in.  If  you  should 
be  taken  sick,  there'd  be  no  one  to  do  for  you.  Lumber- 
men, hunters,  and  such  fellows  can  rough  it  alone  awhile, 
but  I  never  heard  of  a  farm  being  run  by  man-power  alone. 
Now  as  to  selling  out  your  stock,  look  at  it.  Grazing  is  what 
your  farm's  good  for  mostly.  It's  a  pity  you're  so -bent  on 
staying  there.  Even  if  you  didn't  get  very  much  for  the 
place,  from  sale  or  rent,  you'd  have  something  that  was  sure. 
A  strong,  capable  man  like  you  could  find  something  to  turn 
your  hand  to.  Then  you  could  board  in  some  respectable 
family,  and  not  have  to  live  like  Robinson  Crusoe.  I've 
thought  it  over  since  we  talked  last,  and  if  I  was  you  I'd 
sell  or  rent." 

"It's  too  late  in  the  season  to  do  either,"  said  Holcroft, 
dejectedly.  "What's  more,  I  don't  want  to,  at  least  not  this 
year.  I've  settled  that,  Tom.  I'm  going  to  have  one  more 
summer  on  the  old  place,  anyway,  if  I  have  to  live  on  bread 
and  milk." 

"You  can't  make  bread." 

"I'll  have  it  brought  from  town  on  the  stage." 

"Well,  it's  a  pity  some  good,  decent  woman — there! 
how  should  I  come  to  forget  all  about  her  till  this  minute  ? 
I  don't  know  whether  it  would  work.  Perhaps  it  would. 
There's  a  woman  here  out  of  the  common  run.  She  has 
quite  a  story  which  I'll  tell  you  in  confidence.  Then  you 
can  say  whether  you'd  like  to  employ  her  or  not.  If  you 
will  stay  on  the  farm,  my  advice  is  that  you  have  a  woman 
to  do  the  housework,  and  me  and  Angy  must  try  to  find  you 
one,  if  the  one  I  have  in  mind  won't  answer.  The  trouble 
is,  Holcroft,  to  get  the  right  kind  of  a  woman  to  live  there 
alone  with  you,  unless  you  married  her.  Nice  women  don't 
like  to  be  talked  about,  and  I  don't  blame  'em.  The  one 


A    MOMENTOUS   DECISION  151 

that's  here,  though,  is  so  friendless  and  alone  in  the  world 
that  she  might  be  glad  enough  to  get  a  home  almost  any- 
wheres." 

"Well,  well,  tell  me  about  her,"  said  Holcroft,  gloomily. 
"But  I'm  about  discouraged  in  the  line  of  women  help." 

Watterly  told  Alida's  story  with  a  certain  rude  pathos 
which  touched  the  farmer's  naturally  kind  heart,  and  he  quite 
forgot  his  own  need  in  indignation  at  the  poor  woman's 

wrongs.  "It's  a  shame!"  he  said,  excitedly,  pacing 

the  room.  "I  say,  Tom,  all  the  law  in  the  land  wouldn't 
keep  me  from  giving  that  fellow  a  whipping  or  worse." 

"Well,  she  won't  prosecute;  she  won't  face  the  public; 
she  just  wants  to  go  to  some  quiet  place  and  work  for  her 
bread.  She  don't  seem  to  have  any  friends,  or  else  she's  too 
ashamed  to  let  them  know." 

"Why,  of  course,  I'd  give  such  a  woman  a  refuge  till  she 
could  do  better.  What  man  wouldn't  ?" 

"A  good  many  wouldn't.  What's  more,  if  she  went  with 
you  her  story  might  get  out,  and  you'd  both  be  talked  about." 

"I  don't  care  that  for  gossip,"  with  a  snap  of  his  fingers. 
"You  know  I'd  treat  her  with  respect." 

"What  I  know,  and  what  other  people  would  say,  are  two 
very  different  things.  Neither  you  nor  any  one  else  can  go 
too  strongly  against  public  opinion.  Still,  it's  anybody's  busi- 
ness," added  Tom,  thoughtfully.  "Perhaps  it's  worth  the 
trial.  If  she  went  I  think  she'd  stay  and  do  the  best  by  you 
she  could.  Would  you  like  to  see  her  ?" 

"Yes." 

Alida  was  summoned  and  stood  with  downcast  eyes  in  the 
door.  "Come  in  and  take  a  chair,"  said  Tom,  kindly.  "You 
know  I  promised  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  good  place  for 
you.  Well,  my  friend  here,  Mr.  Holcroft,  whom  I've  known 
ever  since  I  was  a  boy,  wants  a  woman  to  do  general  house- 
work and  take  care  of  the  dairy." 

She  gave  the  farmer  one  of  those  swift,  comprehensive 
glances  by  which  women  take  in  a  personality,  and  said  in  a 
tone  of  regret,  "But  I  don't  understand  dairy  work." 


152  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"Oh,  you'd  soon  learn.  It's  just  the  kind  of  a  place  you 
said  you  wanted,  a  lonely,  out-of-the-way  farm  and  no  other 
help  kept.  What's  more,  my  friend  Holcroft  is  a  kind,  hon- 
est man.  He'd  treat  you  right.  He  knows  all  about  your 
trouble  and  is  sorry  for  you." 

If  Holcroft  had  been  an  ogre  in  appearance,  he  would 
have  received  the  grateful  glance  which  she  now  gave  him  as 
she  said,  "I'd  be  only  too  glad  to  work  for  you,  sir,  if  you 
think  I  can  do,  or  learn  to  do,  what  is  required." 

Holcroft,  while  his  friend  was  speaking,  had  studied 
closely  Alida's  thin,  pale  face,  and  he  saw  nothing  in  it  not 
in  harmony  with  the  story  he  had  heard.  "I  am  sorry  for 
you,"  he  said,  kindly.  "I  believe  you  never  meant  to  do 
wrong  and  have  tried  to  do  right.  I  will  be  perfectly  hon- 
est with  you.  My  wife  is  dead,  the  help  I  had  has  left  me, 
and  I  live  alone  in  the  house.  The  truth  is,  too,  that  I 
could  not  afford  to  keep  two  in  help  and  there  would  not  be 
work  for  them  both." 

Alida  had  learned  much  in  her  terrible  adversity,  and 
had,  moreover,  the  instincts  of  a  class  superior  to  the  position 
she  was  asked  to  take.  She  bowed  low  to  hide  the  burning 
flush  that  crimsoned  her  pale  cheeks  as  she  faltered,  "It  may 
seem  strange  to  you,  sirs,  that  one  situated  as  I  am  should 
hesitate,  but  I  have  never  knowingly  done  anything  which 
gave  people  the  right  to  speak  against  me.  I  do  not  fear 
work,  I  would  humbly  try  to  do  my  best,  but —  "  she  hesi- 
tated and  rose  as  if  to  retire. 

"I  understand  you,"  said  Holcroft,  kindly,  "and  I  don't 
blame  you  for  doing  what  you  think  is  right." 

"I'm  very  sorry,  sir,"  she  replied,  tears  coming  into  her 
eyes  as  she  went  out  of  the  room. 

"There  it  is,  Holcroft,"  said  Tom.  "I  believe  she's  just 
the  one  for  you,  but  you  can  see  she  isn't  of  the  common 
kind.  She  knows  as  well  as  you  and  me  how  people  would 
talk,  especially  if  her  story  came  out,  as  like  enough  it  will." 

"Hang  people !"  snarled  the  farmer. 

"Yes,  a  good  lot  of  'em  deserve  hanging,  but  it  wouldn't 


A    MOMENTOUS   DECISION  153 

help  you  any  just  now.  Perhaps  she'd  go  with  you  if  you 
got  another  girl  or  took  an  old  woman  from  the  house  here 
to  keep  her  company." 

"I'm  sick  to  death  of  such  hags,"  said  the  farmer,  with 
an  impatient  gesture.  Then  he  sat  down  and  looked  at  his 
friend  as  if  a  plan  was  forming  in  his  mind  of  which  he 
scarcely  dared  speak. 

"Well,  out  with  it,"  said  Tom. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  marriage  ceremony  performed  by 
a  justice  of  the  peace  ?"  Holcroft  asked,  slowly. 

"No,  but  they  do  it  often  enough.  What !  are  you  going 
to  offer  her  marriage  ?" 

"You  say  she  is  homeless  and  friendless  ?" 

"Yes."  " 

"And  you  believe  she  is  just  what  she  seems — just  what 
her  story  shows  her  to  be  ?" 

"Yes.  I've  seen  too  many  frauds  to  be  taken  in.  She 
isn't  a  fraud.  Neither  does  she  belong  to  that  miserable, 
wishy-washy,  downhill  class  that  sooner  or  later  fetches  up 
in  a  poorhouse.  They  say  we're  all  made  of  dust,  but  some 
seem  made  of  mud.  You  could  see  she  was  out  of  the 
common;  and  she's  here  on  account  of  the  wrong  she  re- 
ceived and  not  the  wrong  she  did.  I  say  all  this  in  fairness 
to  her;  but  when  it  comes  to  marrying  her,  that's  another 
question." 

"Tom,  as  I've  told  you,  I  don't  want  to  marry.  In  fact, 
I  couldn't  go  before  a  minister  and  promise  what  I'd  have 
to.  But  I  could  do  something  like  this.  I  could  give  this 
woman  an  honest  name  and  a  home.  It  would  be  marriage 
before  the  law.  No  one  could  ever  say  a  word  against  either 
of  us.  I  would  be  true  and  kind  to  her  and  she  should  share 
in  my  fortunes.  That's  all.  You  have  often  advised  me  to 
marry,  and  you  know  if  I  did  it  couldn't  be  anything  else 
but  a  business  affair.  Then  it  ought  to  be  done  in  a  busi- 
ness-like way.  You  say  I  can't  get  along  alone,  and  like 
enough  you're  right.  I've  learned  more  from  this  woman's 
manner  than.  I  have  in  a  year,  why  I  can't  get  and  keep  the 


154  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

right  kind  of  help,  and  I  now  feel  if  I  could  find  a  good, 
honest  woman  who  would  make  my  interests  hers,  and  help 
me  make  a  living  in  my  own  home,  I'd  give  her  my  name 
and  all  the  security  which  an  honest  name  conveys.  Now, 
this  poor  woman  is  in  sore  need  and  she  might  he  grateful 
for  what  I  can  do,  while  any  other  woman  would  naturally 
expect  me  to  promise  more  than  I  honestly  can.  Anyhow, 
I'd  have  to  go  through  the  form,  and  I  can't  and  won't  go 
and  say  sacred  words — just  about  what  I  said  when  I  mar- 
ried my  wife — and  know  all  the  time  I  was  lying." 

"Well,  Holcroft,  you're  a  queer  dick  and  this  is  a  queer 
plan  of  yours.  You're  beyond  my  depth  now  and  I  can't 
advise." 

"Why  is  it  a  queer  plan  ?  Things  only  seem  odd  because 
they  are  not  common.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  advise  a 
business  marriage.  When  I  try  to  follow  your  advice  hon- 
estly and  not  dishonestly  you  say  I'm  queer." 

"I  suppose  if  everybody  became  honest,  it  would  be  the 
queerest  world  ever  known,"  said  Tom,  laughing.  "Well, 
you  might  do  worse  than  marry  this  woman.  I  can  tell  you 
that  marrying  is  risky  business  at  best.  You  know  a  justice 
will  tie  you  just  as  tight  as  a  minister,  and  while  I've  given 
you  my  impressions  about  this  woman,  I  know  little  about 
her  and  you  know  next  to  nothing." 

"I  guess  that  would  be  the  case,  anyhow.  If  you  set  out 
to  find  a  wife  for  me,  where  is  there  a  woman  that  you 
actually  do  know  more  about?  As  for  my  going  here  and 
there,  to  get  acquainted,  it's  out  of  the  question.  All  my 
feelings  rise  up  against  such  a  course.  Now,  I  feel  sorry 
for  this  woman.  She  has  at  least  my  sympathy.  If  she  is 
as  friendless,  poor  and  unhappy  as  she  seems,  I  mjght  do 
her  as  great  a  kindness  as  she  would  do  for  me  if  she  could 
take  care  of  my  home.  I  wouldn't  expect  very  much.  It 
would  be  a  comfort  just  to  have  some  one  in  the  house  that 
wouldn't  rob  or  waste,  and  who,  knowing  what  her  station 
was,  would  be  content.  Of  course  I'd  have  to  talk  it  over 
with  her  and  make  my  purpose  clear.  She  might  agree  with 


A    MOMENTOUS   DECISION  155 

you  that  it's  too  queer  to  be  thought  of.  If  so,  that  would 
be  the  end  of  it." 

"Well,  Jim,  you  always  finish  by  half  talking  me  over  to 
your  side  of  a  question.  Now,  if  my  wife  was  home,  I  don't 
believe  she'd  listen  to  any  such  plan." 

"No,  I  suppose  she  wouldn't.  She'd  believe  in  people 
marrying  and  doing  everything  in  the  ordinary  way.  But 
neither  I  nor  this  woman  is  in  ordinary  circumstances.  Do 
you  know  of  a  justice  ?" 

"Yes,  and  you  know  him,  too;  Justice  Harkins." 

"Why  certainly.  He  came  from  our  town  and  I  knew 
him  when  he  was  a  boy,  although  I  haven't  seen  much  of 
him  of  late  years." 

"Well,  shall  I  go  and  say  to  this  woman — Alida  Arm- 
strong is  her  name  now,  I  suppose — that  you  wish  to  see 
her  again?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  tell  her  the  truth.     Then  she  can  decide." 


156  HE   FELL   IX   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

HOLCROFT    GIVES    HIS    HAND 

ALIDA  was  seated  by  a  window  with  some  of  the  mend- 
ing in  which  she  assisted,  and,  as  usual,  was  apart  by 
herself.  Watterly  entered  the  large  apartment 
quietly,  and  at  first  she  did  not  observe  him.  He  had  time 
to  note  that  she  was  greatly  dejected,  and  when  she  saw  him 
she  hastily  wiped  tears  from  her  eyes. 

"You  are  a  good  deal  cast  down,  Alida,"  he  said,  watch- 
ing her  closely. 

"I've  reason  to  be.     I  don't  see  any  light  ahead  at  all." 

"Well,  you  know  the  old  saying,  'It's  darkest  before  day/ 
I  want  you  to  come  with  me  again.  I  think  I've  found  a 
chance  for  you." 

She  arose  with  alacrity  and  followed.  As  soon  as  they 
were  alone,  he  turned  and  looked  her  squarely  in  the  face 
as  he  said,  gravely,  "You  have  good  commonsense,  haven't 
you?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  she  faltered,  perplexed  and  troubled 
by  the  question. 

"Well,  you  can  understand  this  much,  I  suppose.  As 
superintendent  of  this  house  I  have  a  responsible  position 
which  I  could  easily  lose  if  I  allowed  myself  to  be  mixed  up 
with  anything  wrong  or  improper.  To  come  right  to  the 
point,  you  don't  know  much  about  me  and  next  to  nothing 
of  my  friend  Holcroft,  but  can't  you  see  that  even  if  I 
was  a  heartless,  good-for-nothing  fellow,  it  wouldn't  be  wise 
or  safe  for  me  to  permit  anything  that  wouldn't  bear  the 
light?" 

"I  think  you  are  an  honest  man,  sir.    It  would  be  strange 


HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND  157 

if  I  did  not  have  confidence  when  you  have  judged  me  and 
treated  me  so  kindly.  But,  Mr.  Watterly,  although  helpless 
and  friendless,  I  must  try  to  do  what  I  think  is  best.  If  I 
accepted  Mr.  Holcroft's  position  it  might  do  him  harm. 
You  know  how  quick  the  world  is  to  misjudge.  It  would 
seem  to  confirm  everything  that  has  been  said  against  me," 
and  the  same  painful  flush  again  overspread  her  features. 

"Well,  Alida,  all  that  you  have  to  do  is  to  listen  patiently 
to  my  friend.  Whether  you  agree  with  his  views  or  not,  you 
will  see  that  he  is  a  good-hearted,  honest  man.  I  want  to 
prepare  you  for  this  talk  by  assuring  you  that  I've  known 
him  since  he  was  a  boy,  that  he  has  lived  all  his  life  in  this 
region  and  is  known  by  many  others,  and  that  I  wouldn't 
dare  let  him  ask  you  to  do  anything  wrong,  even  if  I  was 
bad  enough." 

"I'm  sure,  sir,  you  don't  wish  me  any  harm,"  she  again 
faltered  in  deep  perplexity. 

"Indeed  I  don't.  I  don't  advise  my  friend's  course; 
neither  do  I  oppose  it.  He's  certainly  old  enough  to  act 
for  himself.  I  suppose  I'm  a  rough  counsellor  for  a  young 
woman,  but  since  you  appear  to  have  so  few  friends  I'm 
inclined  to  act  as  one.  Just  you  stand  on  the  question  of 
right  and  wrong,  and  dismiss  from  your  mind  all  foolish  no- 
tions of  what  people  will  say.  As  a  rule,  all  the  people  in 
the  world  can't  do  as  much  for  us  as  somebody  in  particular. 
Now  you  go  in  the  parlor  and  listen  like  a  sensible  woman. 
I'll  be  reading  the  paper,  and  the  girl  will  be  clearing  off  the 
table  in  the  next  room  here." 

Puzzled  and  tembling,  Alida  entered  the  apartment 
where  Holcroft  was  seated.  She  was  so  embarrassed  that 
she  could  not  lift  her  eyes  to  him. 

"Please  sit  down,"  he  said,  gravely,  "and  don't  be 
troubled,  much  less  frightened.  You  are  just  as  free  to  act 
as  ever  you  were  in  your  life." 

She  sat  down  near  the  door,  and  compelled  herself  to 
look  at  him,  for  she  felt  instinctively  that  she  might  gather 
more  from  the  expression  of  his  face  than  from  his  words. 


158  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"Alida  x\rmstrong  is  your  name,  Mr.  Watterly  tells  me  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  Alida,  I  want  to  have  a  plain  business  talk  with 
you.  That's  nothing  to  be  nervous  and  worried  about,  you 
know.  As  I  told  you,  I've  heard  your  story.  It  has  made 
me  sorry  for  you  instead  of  setting  me  against  you.  It  has 
made  me  respect  you  as  a  right-minded  woman,  and  I  shall 
give  you  good  proof  that  my  words  are  true.  At  the  same 
time,  I  shan't  make  any  false  pretences  to  what  isn't  true 
and  couldn't  be  true.  Since  I've  heard  your  story,  it's  only 
fair  you  should  hear  mine,  and  I  ought  to  tell  it  first." 

He  went  over  the  past  very  briefly  until  he  came  to  the 
death  of  his  wife.  There  was  simple  and  homely  pathos  in 
the  few  sentences  with  which  he  referred  to  this  event. 
Then  more  fully  he  enlarged  upon  his  efforts  and  failure  to 
keep  house  with  hired  help.  Unconsciously,  he  had  taken 
the  best  method  to  enlist  her  sympathy.  The  secluded  cot- 
tage and  hillside  farm  became  realities  to  her  fancy.  She 
saw  how  the  man's  heart  clung  to  his  home,  and  his  effort  to 
keep  it  touched  her  deeply. 

"Oh,"  she  thought,  "I  do  wish  there  was  some  way  for 
me  to  go  there.  The  loneliness  of  the  place  which  drove 
others  away  is  the  chief  attraction  for  me.  Then  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  work  for  such  a  man  and  make  his  home  com- 
fortable for  him.  It's  plain  from  his  words  and  looks  that 
he's  as  honest  and  straightforward  as  the  day  is  long.  He 
only  wants  to  keep  his  home  and  make  his  living  in  peace." 

As  he  had  talked,  her  nervous  embarrassment  passed 
away,  and  the  deep  sense  of  her  own  need  was  pressing  upon 
her  again.  She  saw  that  he  also  was  in  great  need.  His 
business  talk  was  revealing  deep  trouble  and  perplexity. 
With  the  quick  intuitions  of  a  woman,  her  mind  went  far 
beyond  his  brief  sentences,  and  saw  all  the  difficulties  of  his 
lot.  His  feeling  reference  to  the  loss  of  his  wife  proved  that 
he  was  not  a  coarse-natured  man.  As  he  spoke  so  plainly  of 
his  life  during  the  past  year,  her  mind  was  insensibly  ab- 
stracted from  everything  but  his  want  and  hers,  and  she 


HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND  159 

thought  his  farmhouse  afforded  just  the  secluded  refuge  she 
craved.  As  he  drew  near  the  end  of  his  story,  and  hesitated 
in  visible  embarrassment,  she  mustered  courage  to  say,  tim- 
idly, "Would  you  permit  a  suggestion  from  me  ?" 

"Why  certainly." 

"You  have  said,  sir,  that  your  business  and  means  would 
not  allow  you  to  keep  two  in  help,  and  as  you  have  been 
speaking  I  have  tried  to  think  of  some  way.  The  fact  that 
your  house  is  so  lonely  is  just  the  reason  why  I  should  like 
to  work  in  it.  As  you  can  understand,  I  have  no  wish  to 
meet  strangers.  Now,  sir,  I  am  willing  to  work  for  very  lit- 
tle ;  I  should  be  glad  to  find  such  a  quiet  refuge  for  simply  my 
board  and  clothes,  and  I  would  do  my  very  best  and  try  to 
learn  what  I  did  not  know.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  I  worked 
for  so  little  you  might  think  you  could  afford  to  hire  some 
elderly  woman  also?"  and  she  looked  at  him  in  the  eager 
hope  that  he  would  accept  her  proposition. 

He  shook  his  head  as  he  replied,  "I  don't  know  of  any 
such  person.  I  took  the  best  one  in  this  house,  and  you 
know  how  she  turned  out." 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Watterly  may  know  of  some  one  else,"  she 
faltered.  She  was  now  deeply  troubled  and  perplexed  again, 
supposing  that  he  was  about  to  renew  his  first  proposition 
that  she  should  be  his  only  help. 

"If  Mr.  Watterly  did  know  of  any  one  I  would  make  the 
trial,  but  he  does  not.  Your  offer  is  very  considerate  and 
reasonable,  but — "  and  he  hesitated  again,  scarcely  knowing 
how  to  go  on. 

"I  am  sorry,  sir,"  she  said,  rising,  as  if  to  end  the  inter- 
view. 

"Stay,"  he  said,  "you  do  not  understand  me  yet.  Of 
course  I  should  not  make  you  the  same  offer  that  I  did  at 
first,  after  seeing  your  feeling  about  it,  and  I  respect  you  all 
the  more  because  you  so  respect  yourself.  What  I  had  in 
mind  was  to  give  you  my  name,  and  it's  an  honest  name.  If 
v  were  married,  it  would  be  perfectly  proper  for  you  to  go 
with  me,  and  no  one  could  say  a  word  against  either  of  us." 


160  HE  FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

"Oh!"  she  gasped,  in  strong  agitation  and  surprise. 

"Now  don't  be  so  taken  aback.  It's  just  as  easy  for  you 
to  refuse  as  it  is  to  speak,  but  listen  first.  What  seems 
strange  and  unexpected  may  be  the  most  sensible  thing  for 
us  both.  You  have  your  side  of  the  case  to  think  of  just  as 
truly  as  I  have  mine;  and  I'm  not  forgetting,  and  I  don't 
ask  you  to  forget,  that  I'm  still  talking  business.  You  and  I 
have  both  been  through  too  much  trouble  and  loss  to  say  any 
silly  nonsense  to  each  other.  You've  heard  my  story,  yet 
I'm  almost  a  stranger  to  you  as  you  are  to  me.  We'd  both 
have  to  take  considerable  on  trust.  Yet  I  know  I'm  honest 
and  well-meaning,  and  I  believe  you  are.  Now  look  at  it. 
Here  we  are,  both  much  alone  in  the  world — both  wishing 
to  live  a  retired,  quiet  life.  I  don't  care  a  rap  for  what  peo- 
ple say  as  long  as  I'm  doing  right,  and  in  this  case  they'd 
have  nothing  to  say.  It's  our  own  business.  I  don't  see  as 
people  will  ever  do  much  for  you,  and  a  good  many  would 
impose  on  you  and  expect  you  to  work  beyond  your  strength. 
They  might  not  be  very  kind  or  considerate,  either.  I  sup- 
pose you've  thought  of  this?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied  with  bowed  head.  "I  should  meet 
coldness,  probably  harshness  and  scorn." 

"Well,  you'd  never  meet  anything  of  the  kind  in  my 
house.  I  would  treat  you  with  respect  and  kindness.  At 
the  same  time,  I'm  not  going  to  mislead  you  by  a  word. 
You  shall  have  a  chance  to  decide  in  view  of  the  whole  truth. 
My  friend,  Mr.  Watterly,  has  asked  me  more'n  once,  'Why 
don't  you  marry  again?'  I  told  him  I  had  been  married 
once,  and  that  I  couldn't  go  before  a  minister  and  promise 
the  same  things  over  again  when  they  wasn't  true.  I  can't 
make  to  you  any  promises  or  say  any  words  that  are  not 
true,  and  I  don't  ask  or  expect  you  to  do  what  I  can't  do.  But 
it  has  seemed  to  me  that  our  condition  was  out  of  the  com- 
mon lot — that  we  could  take  each  other  for  just  what  we 
might  be  to  each  other  and  no  more.  You  would  be  my 
wife  in  name,  and  I  do  not  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  in  more 
than  name.  You  would  thus  secure  a  good  home  and  the 


HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND  161 

care  and  protection  of  one  who  would  be  kind  to  you,  and 
I  would  secure  a  housekeeper — one  that  would  stay  with 
me  and  make  my  interests  hers.  It  would  be  a  fair,  square 
arrangement  between  ourselves  and  nobody  else's  busi- 
ness. By  taking  this  course,  we  don't  do  any  wrong  to  our 
feelings  or  have  to  say  or  promise  anything  that  isn't  true." 

"Yet  I  can't  help  saying,  sir,"  she  replied,  in  strong,  yet 
repressed  agitation,  "that  your  words  sound  very  strange; 
and  it  seems  stranger  still  that  you  can  offer  marriage  of  any 
kind  to  a  woman  situated  as  I  am.  You  know  my  story, 
sir,"  she  added,  crimsoning,  "and  all  may  soon  know  it. 
You  would  suffer  wrong  and  injury." 

"I  offer  you  open  and  honorable  marriage  before  the 
world,  and  no  other  kind.  Mr.  Watterly  and  others — as 
many  as  you  pleased — would  witness  it,  and  I'd  have  you 
given  a  certificate  at  once.  As  for  your  story,  it  has  only 
awakened  my  sympathy.  You  have  not  meant  to  do  any 
wrong.  Your  troubles  are  only  another  reason  in  my  mind 
for  not  taking  any  advantage  of  you  or  deceiving  you  in  the 
least.  Look  the  truth  squarely  in  the  face.  I'm  bent  on 
keeping  my  house  and  getting  my  living  as  I  have  done,  and 
I  need  a  housekeeper  that  will  be  true  to  all  my  interests. 
Think  how  I've  been  robbed  and  wronged,  and  what  a  dog's 
life  I've  lived  in  my  own  home.  You  need  a  home,  a  sup- 
port and  a  protector.  I  couldn't  come  to  you  or  go  to  any 
other  woman  and  say  honestly  more  than  this.  Isn't  it 
better  for  people  to  be  united  on  the  ground  of  truth  than  to 
begin  by  telling  a  pack  of  lies  ?" 

"But — but  can  people  be  married  with  such  an  under- 
standing by  a  minister  ?  Wouldn't  it  be  deceiving  him  ?" 

"I  shall  not  ask  you  to  deceive  any  one.  Any  marriage 
that  either  you  or  I  could  now  make  would  be  practically  a 
business  marriage.  I  should  therefore  take  you,  if  you  were 
willing,  to  a  justice  and  have  a  legal  or  civil  marriage  per- 
formed, and  this  would  be  just  as  binding  as  any  other  in 
the  eye  of  the  law.  It  is  often  done.  This  would  be  much 


162  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

better  to  my  mind,  than  if  people,  situated  as  we  are,  went 
to  a  church  or  a  minister." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  couldn't  do  that." 

"Well,  now,  Alida,"  he  said,  with  a  smile  that  wonder- 
fully softened  his  rugged  features,  "you  are  free  to  decide.. 
It  may  seem  to  you  a  strange  sort  of  courtship,  but  we  are 
both  too  old  for  much  foolishness.  I  never  was  sentimental, 
and  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  begin  now.  I'm  full  of  trouble 
and  perplexity,  and  so  are  you.  Are  you  willing  to  be  my 
wife  so  far  as  an  honest  name  goes,  and  help  me  make  a 
living  for  us  both  ?  That's  all  I  ask.  I,  in  my  turn,  would 
promise  to  treat  you  with  kindness  and  respect,  and  give 
you  a  home  as  long  as  I  lived  and  to  leave  you  all  I  have  in 
the  world  if  I  died.  That's  all  I  could  promise.  I'm  a 
lonely,  quiet  man,  and  like  to  be  by  myself.  I  wouldn't  be 
much  society  for  you.  I've  said  more  to-day  than  I  might 
in  a  month,  for  I  felt  that  it  was  due  to  you  to  know  just 
what  you  were  doing." 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Alida,  trembling,  and  with  tears  in  her 
eyes,  "you  do  not  ask  much  and  you  offer  a  great  deal.  If 
you,  a  strong  man,  dread  to  leave  your  home  and  go  out 
into  the  world  you  know  not  where,  think  how  terrible  it  is 
for  a  weak,  friendless  woman  to  be  worse  than  homeless.  I 
have  lost  everything,  even  my  good  name." 

"No,  no,  not  in  my  eyes." 

"Oh,  I  know,  I  know,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands. 
"Even  these  miserable  paupers  like  myself  have  made  me 
feel  it.  They  have  burned  the  truth  into  my  brain  and 
heart.  Indeed,  sir,  you  do  not  realize  what  you  are  doing 
or  asking.  It  is  not  fit  or  meet  that  I  should  bear  your 
name.  You  might  be  sorry,  indeed." 

"Alida,"  said  Holcroft,  gravely,  "I've  not  forgotten  your 
story,  and  you  shouldn't  forget  mine.  Be  sensible  now. 
Don't  I  look  old  enough  to  know  what  I'm  about  ?" 

"Oh,  oh,  oh,"  she  cried,  impetuously,  "if  I  were  only 
sure  it  was  right!  It  may  be  business  to  you,  but  it  seems 
like  life  or  death  to  me.  It's  more  than  death — I  don't 


HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND  163 

fear  that — but  I  do  fear  life,  I  do  fear  the  desperate  struggle 
just  to  maintain  a  bare,  dreary  existence.  I  do  dread  going 
out  among  strangers  and  seeing  their  cold  curiosity  and  their 
scorn.  You  can't  understand  a  woman's  heart.  It  isn't 
right  for  me  to  die  till  God  takes  me,  but  life  has  seemed  so 
horrible,  meeting  suspicion  on  one  side  and  cruel  significant' 
looks  of  knowledge  on  the  other.  I've  been  tortured  even 
here  by  these  wretched  hags,  and  I've  envied  even  them,  so 
near  to  death,  yet  not  shamed  like  me.  I  know,  and  you 
should  know,  that  my  heart  is  broken,  crushed,  trampled  into 
the  mire.  I  had  felt  that  for  me  even  the  thought  of  mar- 
riage again  would  be  a  mockery,  a  wicked  thing,  which  I 
would  never  have  a  right  to  entertain.  I  never  dreamed  that 
any  one  would  think  of  such  a  thing,  knowing  what  you 
know.  Oh,  oh,  why  have  you  tempted  me  so  if  it  is  not 
right?  I  must  do  right.  The  feeling  that  I've  not  meant 
to  do  wrong  is  all  that  has  kept  me  from  despair.  But  can 
it  be  right  to  let  you  take  me  from  the  street,  the  poor- 
house,  with  nothing  to  give  but  a  blighted  name,  a  broken 
heart  and  feeble  hands !  See,  I  am  but  the  shadow  of  what 
I  was  and  a  dark  shadow  at  that.  I  could  be  only  a  dismal 
shadow  at  any  man's  hearth.  Oh,  oh,  I've  thought  and 
suffered  until  my  reason  seemed  going.  You  don't  realize, 
you  don't  know  the  depths  into  which  I've  fallen.  It  can't 
be  right." 

Holcroft  was  almost  appalled  at  this  passionate  outburst 
in  one  who  thus  far  had  been  sad,  indeed,  yet  self-controlled. 
He  looked  at  her  in  mingled  pity  and  consternation.  His 
own  troubles  had  seemed  heavy  enough,  but  he  now  caught 
glimpses  of  something  far  beyond  trouble,  of  agony,  of  mor- 
tal dread  that  bordered  on  despair.  He  could  scarcely  com- 
prehend how  terrible  to  a  woman  like  Alida  were  the  recent 
events  of  her  life,  and  how  circumstances,  with  illness,  had 
all  tended  to  create  a  morbid  horror  of  her  situation.  Like 
himself,  she  was  naturally  reticent  in  regard  to  her  deeper 
feelings,  patient  and  undemonstrative.  Had  not  his  words 
evoked  this  outburst  she  might  have  suffered  and  died  in 


164  HE   FELL    IN    LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

silence,  but  in  this  final  conflict  between  conscience  and 
hope,  the  hot  lava  of  her  heart  had  broken  forth.  So  little 
was  he  then  able  to  understand  her,  that  suspicions  crossed 
his  mind.  Perhaps  his  friend  Watterly  had  not  heard  the 
true  story  or  else  not  the  whole  story.  But  his  straightfor- 
ward simplicity  stood  him  in  good  stead,  and  he  said,  gently, 
"Alida,  you  say  I  don't  know,  I  don't  realize.  I  believe 
you  will  tell  me  the  truth.  You  went  to  a  minister  and  was 
married  to  a  man  that  you  thought  you  had  a  right  to 
marry — " 

"You  shall  know  it  all  from  my  own  lips,"  she  said,  in- 
terrupting him;  "you  have  a  right  to  know;  and  then  you 
will  see  that  it  cannot  be,"  and  with  bowed  head,  and  low, 
rapid,  passionate  utterance,  she  poured  out  her  story.  "That 
woman,  his  wife,"  she  concluded,  "made  me  feel  that  I  was 
of  the  scum  and  offscouring  of  the  earth,  and  they've  made 
me  feel  so  here,  too — even  these  wretched  paupers.  So  the 
world  will  look  on  me  till  God  takes  me  to  my  mother. 
Oh,  thank  God !  she  don't  know.  Don't  you  see,  now  ?" 
she  asked,  raising  her  despairing  eyes,  from  which  agony 
had  dried  all  tears.  "Yes,  I  see  you  do,"  she  added,  des- 
perately, "for  even  you  have  turned  from  me." 

"Confound  it!"  cried  Holcroft,  standing  up  and  search- 
ing his  pockets  for  a  handkerchief,  "I — I — I'd  like — like  to 
choke  that  fellow.  If  I  could  get  my  hands  on  him,  there'd 
be  trouble.  Turn  away  from  you,  you  poor  wronged  crea- 
ture! Don't  you  see  I'm  so  sorry  for  you  that  I'm  making 
a  fool  of  myself  ?  I,  who  couldn't  shed  a  tear  over  my  own 
troubles — there,  there — come  now,  let  us  be  sensible.  Let's 
get  back  to  business,  for  I  can't  stand  this  kind  of  thing  at 
all.  I'm  so  confused  betwixt  rage  at  him  and  pity  for  you — 
Let  me  see ;  this  is  where  we  were ;  I  want  some  one  to  take 
care  of  my  home,  and  you  want  a  home.  That's  all  there 
is  about  it  now.  If  you  say  so,  I'll  make  you  Mrs.  Holcroft 
in  an  hour." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  work  upon  your  sympathies,  only  to 
tell  you  the  truth.  God  bless  you,  that  the  impulses  of  your 


HOLCROFT   GIVES   HIS   HAND  165 

heart  are  so  kind  and  merciful.  But  let  me  be  true  to  you 
as  well  as  to  myself.  Go  away  and  think  it  all  over  calmly 
and  quietly.  Even  for  the  sake  of  being  rescued  from  a  life 
that  I  dread  far  more  than  death,  I  cannot  let  you  do  that 
which  you  may  regret  unspeakably.  Do  not  think  I  misun- 
derstand your  offer.  It's  the  only  one  I  could  think  of,  and 
I  would  not  have  thought  of  it  if  you  had  not  spoken.  I 
have  no  heart  to  give.  I  could  be  a  wife  only  in  name,  but 
I  could  work  like  a  slave  for  protection  from  a  cruel,  jeering 
world;  I  could  hope  for  something  like  peace  and  respite 
from  suffering  if  I  only  had  a  safe  refuge.  But  I  must  not 
have  these  if  it  is  not  right  and  best.  Good  to  me  must 
not  come  through  wrong  to  you." 

"Tush !  tush !  you  mustn't  talk  so.  I  can't  stand  it  at  all. 
I've  heard  your  story.  It's  just  as  I  supposed  at  first,  only 
a  great  deal  more  so.  Why,  of  course  it's  all  right.  It 
makes  me  believe  in  Providence,  it  all  turns  out  so  entirely 
for  our  mutual  good.  I  can  do  as  much  to  help  you  as  you 
to  help  me.  Now  let's  get  back  on  the  sensible,  solid  ground 
from  which  we  started.  The  idea  of  my  wanting  you  to 
work  like  a  slave!  Like  enough,  some  people  would,  and 
then  you'd  soon  break  down  and  be  brought  back  here  again. 
No,  no,  I've  explained  just  what  I  wish  and  just  what  I 
mean.  You  must  get  over  the  notion  that  I'm  a  sentimental 
fool,  carried  away  by  my  feelings.  How  Tom  Watterly 
would  laugh  at  the  idea !  My  mind  is  made  up  now  just  as 
much  as  it  would  be  a  week  hence.  This  is  no  place  for  you, 
and  I  don't  like  to  think  of  your  being  here.  My  spring 
work  is  pressing,  too.  Don't  you  see  that  by  doing  what  I 
ask  you  can  set  me  right  on  my  feet  and  start  me  uphill  again 
after  a  year  of  miserable  downhill  work?  You  have  only 
to  agree  to  what  I've  said,  and  you  will  be  at  home  to-night 
and  I'll  be  quietly  at  my  work  to-morrow.  Mr.  Watterly 
will  go  with  us  to  the  justice  who  has  known  me  all  my  life. 
Then,  if  any  one  ever  says  a  word  against  you  he'll  have  me 
to  settle  with.  Come,  Alida,  here's  a  strong  hand  that's  able 
to  take  care  of  you." 


166  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  clasped  it  like  one  who  is 
sinking,  and  before  he  divined  her  purpose,  she  kissed  and 
bedewed  it  with  tears. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

A     BUSINESS     MAEEIAGE 

WHILE  Holcroft's  sympathies  had  been  deeply 
touched  by  the  intense  emotion  of  gratitude 
which  had  overpowered  Alida,  he  had  also  been 
disturbed  and  rendered  somewhat  anxious.  He  was  act- 
ually troubled  lest  the  woman  he  was  about  to  marry  should 
speedily  begin  to  love  him,  and  develop  a  tendency  to  mani- 
fest her  affection  in  a  manner  that  would  seem  to  him  ex- 
travagant and  certainly  disagreeable.  Accustomed  all  his 
life  to  repress  his  feelings,  he  wondered  at  himself  and  could 
not  understand  how  he  had  given  way  so  unexpectedly. 
He  was  not  sufficiently  versed  in  human  nature  to  know  that 
the  depth  of  Alida's  distress  was  the  adequate  cause.  If 
there  had  been  a  false  or  an  affected  word,  he  would  have 
remained  cool  enough.  In  his  inability  to  gauge  his  own 
nature  as  well  as  hers,  he  feared  lest  this  business-like  mar- 
riage was  verging  toward  sentiment  on  her  part.  He  did 
not  like  her  kissing  his  hand.  He  was  profoundly  sorry  for 
her,  but  so  he  would  have  been  for  any  other  woman  suffer- 
ing under  the  burden  of  a  great  wrong.  He  felt  that  it 
would  be  embarrassing  if  she  entertained  sentiments  toward 
him  which  he  could  not  reciprocate,  and  open  manifestations 
of  regard  would  remind  him  of  that  horror  of  his  life,  Mrs. 
Mumpson.  He  was  not  incapable  of  quick,  strong  sympathy 
in  any  instance  of  genuine  trouble,  but  he  was  one  of  those 
men  who  would  shrink  in  natural  recoil  from  any  marked 
evidence  of  a  woman's  preference  unless  the  counterpart 
of  her  regard  existed  in  his  own  breast. 

To  a  woman  of  Alida's  intuition  the  way  in  which  he 


A    BUSINESS   MARRIAGE  167 

withdrew  his  hand  and  the  expression  of  his  face  had  a  world 
of  meaning.  She  would  not  need  a  second  hint.  Yet  she 
did  not  misjudge  him ;  she  knew  that  he  meant  what  he  had 
said  and  had  said  all  that  he  meant.  She  was  also  aware 
that  he  had  not  and  never  could  understand  the  depths  of 
fear  and  suffering  from  which  his  hand  was  lifting  her.  Her 
gratitude  was  akin  to  that  of  a  lost  soul  saved,  and  that  was 
all  she  had  involuntarily  expressed.  She  sat  down  again  and 
quietly  dried  her  eyes,  while  in  her  heart  she  purposed  to 
show  her  gratitude  by  patient  assiduity  in  learning  to  do 
what  he  required. 

Holcroft  was  now  bent  upon  carrying  out  his  plan  as 
quickly  as  possible  and  returning  home.  He  therefore  asked, 
"Can  you  go  with  me  at  once,  Alida  ?" 

She  simply  bowed  her  acquiescence. 

"That's  sensible.  Perhaps  you  had  better  get  your  things 
ready  while  I  and  Mr.  Watterly  go  and  arrange  with  Justice 
Harkins." 

Alida  averted  her  face  with  a  sort  of  shame  which  a 
woman  feels  who  admits  such  a  truth.  "I  haven't  anything, 
sir,  but  a  hat  and  cloak  to  put  on.  I  came  away  and  left 
everything." 

"And  I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  Holcroft,  heartily.  "I 
wouldn't  want  you  to  bring  anything  which  that  scoundrel 
gave  you."  He  paced  the  room  thoughtfully  a  moment  or 
two  and  then  called  Watterly  in.  "It's  settled,  Tom.  Alida 
will  be  Mrs.  Holcroft  as  soon  as  we  can  see  the  justice.  Do 
you  think  we  could  persuade  him  to  come  here  ?" 

"One  thing  at  a  time. — Mrs.  Holcroft — I  may  as  well 
call  you  so,  for  when  my  friend  says  he'll  do  a  thing  he  does 
it — I  congratulate  you.  I  think  you  are  well  out  of  your 
troubles.  Since  you  are  to  marry  my  old  friend,  we  must 
be  friends,  too,"  and  he  shook  her  heartily  by  the  hand. 

His  words  and  manner  were  another  ray  of  light — a  wel- 
come rift  in  the  black  pall  that  had  gathered  round  her. 

"You  were  the  first  friend  I  found,  sir,  after — after 
what  happened,"  she  said,  gratefully. 


168  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

"Well,  you've  found  another  and  a  better  one;  and  he'll 
always  be  just  the  same.  Any  woman  might  be  glad — 

"Come,  Tom,  no  more  of  that.  I'm  a  plain  old  farmer 
that  does  what  he  agrees,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it.  I've 
told  Alida  just  what  I  wished  and  could  do — " 

"I  should  hope  so,"  interrupted  Watterly,  laughing. 
"You've  taken  time  enough,  certainly,  and  I  guess  you've 
talked  more  than  you  have  before  in  a  year." 

"Yes,  I  know  I'm  almost  as  bad  as  an  oyster  about  talk- 
ing except  when  I'm  with  you.  Somehow,  we've  always  had 
a  good  deal  to  say  to  each  other.  In  this  case,  I  felt  that 
it  was  due  to  Alida  that  she  should  know  all  about  me  and 
understand  fully  just  how  I  felt  concerning  this  marriage. 
The  very  fact  that  she  hasn't  friends  to  advise  her  made  it 
all  the  more  needful  that  I  should  be  plain  and  not  mislead 
her  in  any  respect.  She  has  just  as  good  a  right  to  judge 
and  act  for  herself  as  any  woman  in  the  land,  and  she  takes 
me  and  I  take  her  with  no  sentimental  lies  to  start  with. 
Now  let's  get  back  to  business.  I  rather  think,  since  Har- 
king was  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine,  he'll  come  up  here 
and  marry  us,  don't  you? — Alida,  wouldn't  you  rather  be 
married  here  quietly  than  face  a  lot  of  strangers  ?  You  can 
have  your  own  way.  I  don't  care  now  if  half  the  town  was 
present." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,  sir.  I  don't  want  to  meet  strangers — 
and — and — I'm  not  very  strong  yet.  I  thank  you  for  con- 
sidering my  feelings  so  kindly." 

"Why,  that's  my  duty,"  replied  the  farmer.  "Come, 
Watterly,  the  sun  is  getting  low,  and  we've  considerable  to 
do  yet  before  we  start  home." 

"I'm  with  you. — Now,  Alida,  you  go  back  quietly  and 
act  as  if  nothing  had  happened  till  I  send  for  you.  Of  course 
this  impatient  young  groom  will  hurry  back  with  the  justice 
as  fast  as  possible.  Still,  we  may  not  find  him,  or  he  may 
be  so  busy  that  we  shall  have  to  come  back  for  you  and  take 
you  to  his  office." 

As  she  turned  to  leave  the  room,  Holcroft  gave  her  his 


A    BUSINESS   MARRIAGE  169 

hand  and  said,  kindly,  "Now  don't  you  be  nervous  or  wor- 
ried. I  see  you  are  not  strong,  and  you  shall  not  be  taxed 
any  more  than  I  can  help.  Good-by  for  a  little  while." 

Meantime,  Watterly  stepped  out  a  moment  and  gave  his 
domestic  a  few  orders;  then  he  accompanied  Holcroft  to 
the  barn  and  the  horses  were  soon  attached  to  the  market- 
wagon.  "You're  in  for  it  now,  Jim,  sure  enough,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "What  will  Angy  say  to  it  all  ?" 

"Tell  her  that  I  say  you've  been  a  mighty  good  friend  to 
me,  yet  I  hope  I  may  never  return  any  favors  of  the  same 
kind." 

"By  jocks !  I  hope  not.  I  guess  it's  just  as  well  she  was 
away.  She'll  think  we've  acted  just  like  two  harum-scarum 
men,  and  will  be  awfully  scandalized  over  your  marrying 
this  woman.  Don't  you  feel  a  little  nervous  about  it?" 

"No !  when  my  mind's  made  up,  I  don't  worry.  Nobody 
else  need  lie  awake,  for  it's  my  affair." 

"Well,  Jim,  you  know  how  I  feel  about  it,  but  I've  got  to 
say  something  and  I  might  as  well  say  it  plain." 

"That's  the  only  way  you  ought  to  say  it." 

"Well,  you  talked  long  enough  to  give  me  plenty  of  time 
to  think.  One  thing  is  clear,  Angy  won't  take  to  this  mar- 
riage. You  know  I'd  like  to  have  you  both  come  in  and 
take  a  meal  as  you  always  have  done,  but  then  a  man  must 
keep  peace  with  his  wife,  and — " 

"I  understand,  Tom.  We  won't  come  till  Mrs.  Watterly 
asks  us." 

"But  you  won't  have  hard  feelings  ?" 

"No,  indeed.  Ain't  you  doing  your  level  best  as  a 
friend  ?" 

"Well,  you  know  women  are  so  set  about  these  things, 
and  Angy  is  rather  hard  on  people  who  don't  come  up  to 
her  mark  of  respectability.  What's  more,  I  suppose  you'll 
find  that  others  will  think  and  act  as  she  does.  If  you  cared 
about  people's  opinions  I  should  have  been  dead  against 
it,  but  as  you  feel  and  are  situated,  I'm  hanged  if  I  don't 
think  she's  just  the  one." 
— XVIII 


170  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"If  it  hadn't  been  this  one,  I  don't  believe  it  would  have 
been  any  one.  Here  we  are,"  and  he  tied  his  horse  before 
the  office  of  the  justice. 

Mr.  Harkins  greeted  Holcroft  with  a  sort  of  patronizing 
cordiality  and  was  good  enough  to  remember  that  they  had 
been  at  the  little  country  schoolhouse  together.  In  Watterly 
he  heartily  recognized  a  brother  politician  who  controlled  a 
goodly  number  of  votes. 

When  Holcroft  briefly  made  known  his  errand,  the  jus- 
tice gave  a  great  guffaw  of  laughter  and  said,  "Oh,  bring  her 
here,  and  I'll  invite  in  some  of  the  boys  as  witnesses." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  all  the  witnesses  that  you  could  crowd 
into  a  ten-acre  lot,"  said  Holcroft,  somewhat  sternly,  "but 
tkere  is  no  occasion  to  invite  the  boys,  whoever  they  are,  or 
any  one  else.  She  doesn't  want  to  be  stared  at.  I  was  in 
hopes,  Mr.  Harkins,  that  you'd  ride  up  to  the  almshouse 
with  us  and  quietly  marry  us  there." 

"Well,  I  guess  you'd  better  bring  her  here.  I'm  pretty 
busy  this  afternoon,  and — " 

"See  here,  Ben,"  said  Watterly,  taking  the  justice  aside, 
"Holcroft  is  my  friend,  and  you  know  I'm  mighty  thick 
with  my  friends.  They  count  more  with  me  than  my  wife's 
relations.  Now  I  want  you  to  do  what  Holcroft  wishes,  as 
a  personal  favor  to  me,  and  the  time  will  come  when  I  can 
make  it  up  to  you."  , 

"Oh,  certainly,  Watterly.  I  didn't  understand,"  replied 
Harkins,  who  looked  upon  Holcroft  as  a  close,  and  as  he 
would  phrase  it,  no-account  farmer,  from  whom  he  could 
never  expect  even  a  vote.  "I'll  go  with  you  at  once.  It's 
but  a  short  job." 

"Well,"  said  Holcroft,  "how  short  can  you  make  it?" 

"Let  me  get  my  book,"  and  he  took  from  a  shelf  the 
"Justice's  Assistant."  "You  can't  want  anything  shorter 
than  this?"  and  he  read,  'By  this  act  of  joining  hands  you 
do  take  each  other  as  husband  and  wife  and  solemnly  engage 
in  the  presence  of  these  witnesses  to  love  and  honor  and 
comfort  and  cherish  each  other  as  such  so  long  as  you  both 


A    BUSINESS    MARRIAGE  171 

shall  live.  Therefore,  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  the 
State  of  New  York  I  do  hereby  pronounce  you  husband  and 
wife.'  A  sailor  couldn't  tie  a  knot  quicker  than  that." 

"I  guess  you  can,  justice,"  said  Holcroft,  taking  the 
book.  "Suppose  you  only  read  this  much.  'By  this  act 
of  joining  hands  you  do  take  each  other  as  husband  and  wife. 
Therefore,  in  acordance  with  the  law,  etc.'  Would  that  be 
a  legal  marriage?" 

"Certainly.  You'd  have  to  go  to  a  divorce  court  to  get 
out  of  that." 

It's  my  purpose  to  keep  out  of  courts  of  all  kinds.  I'll 
thank  you  to  read  just  that  much  and  no  more.  I  don't 
want  to  say  anything  that  isn't  exactly  true." 

"You  see  how  it  is,  Ben.  Holcroft  hasn't  known  the 
woman  long,  and  she's  a  nice  woman,  too,  if  she  is  boarding 
at  my  hotel.  Holcroft  needs  a  wife — must  have  one,  in 
fact,  to  help  run  his  house  and  dairy.  It  wasn't  exactly  a 
love  match,  you  know,  and  he's  that  kind  of  a  man  that 
a  yoke  of  oxen  couldn't  draw  a  word  out  of  him  that  he 
didn't  mean." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  see  now,"  said  Harkins.  "I'll  read  just 
what  you  say  and  no  more." 

"And  I'll  have  a  little  spread  that  we  can  be  longer  at 
than  the  ceremony,"  added  Watterly,  who  was  inclined  to 
be  a  little  hilarious  over  the  affair. 

Holcroft,  however,  maintained  his  grave  manner,  and 
when  they  reached  the  almshouse  he  took  Watterly  aside 
and  said,  "See  here,  Tom,  you've  been  a  good  friend  to-day 
and  seconded  me  in  everything.  Now  let  the  affair  pass 
off  just  as  quietly  and  seriously  as  possible.  She's  too  cast 
down  for  a  gay  wedding.  Suppose  we  had  a  daughter  who'd 
been  through  such  an  experience — a  nice,  good,  modest  girl. 
Her  heart's  too  sore  for  fun  and  jokes.  My  marrying  her  is 
much  the  same  as  pulling  her  out  of  deep  water  in  which 
she  was  sinking." 

"You're  right,  Jim.  I  don't  think,  and  one  doesn't  have 
much  cause  to  be  so  sparing  of  the  feelings  of  such  creatures 


172  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

as  come  here.  But  she's  out  of  the  common  run,  and  I 
ought  to  have  remembered  it.  By  jocks!  You're  mighty 
careful  about  promising  to  love,  cherish  and  obey,  and  all 
that,  but  I  guess  you'll  do  a  sight  more  than  many  who  do 
promise." 

"Of  course  I'm  going  to  be  kind.  That's  my  duty. 
Give  Harkins  a  hint.  Tell  him  that  she's  lost  her  mother. 
He  needn't  know  when  the  old  lady  died,  but  it  will  kind 
of  solemnize  him." 

Watterly  did  as  requested,  and  Harkins,  now  convinced 
that  his  political  interest  could  be  furthered  by  careful  com- 
pliance with  all  requirements,  put  on  a  grave,  official  air  and 
was  ready  for  business. 

'Alida  was  sent  for.  She  was  too  agitated  to  say  farewell 
to  any  of  the  poor  creatures  with  whom  she  had  been  com- 
pelled to  associate — even  to  the  few  who,  though  scarcely 
sane,  had  manifested  tenderness  and  affection..  She  had 
felt  that  she  must  reserve  all  her  strength  for  the  coming 
ordeal,  which  she  both  welcomed  and  feared  inexpressibly. 
She  knew  how  critical  was  the  step  she  was  taking  and  how 
much  depended  on  it,  yet  the  more  she  thought,  the  more 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  Providence  had,  as  by  a  miracle,  given 
her  a  refuge.  Holcroft's  businesslike  view  of  the  marriage 
comforted  her  greatly,  and  she  asked  God  to  give  her  health 
and  strength  to  work  faithfully  for  him  many  years. 

But  she  had  sad  misgivings  as  she  followed  the  mes- 
senger, for  she  felt  so  weak  that  she  could  scarcely  walk.  It 
was  indeed  a  pallid,  sorrowful,  trembling  bride  that  entered 
Mr.  Watterly's  parlor.  Holcroft  met  her  and  taking  her 
hand,  said,  kindly,  "Courage.  It  will  be  over  in  a  minute." 

She  was  so  pale  and  agitated  that  the  justice  asked,  "Do 
you  enter  into  this  marriage  freely  and  without  compulsion 
of  any  kind?" 

"Please  let  me  sit  down  a  moment,"  she  faltered,  and 
Watterly  hastened  to  give  her  a  chair.  She  fixed  her  eyes 
on  Holcroft  and  said,  anxiously,  "You  see,  sir,  how  weak  I 
am.  I  have  been  sick  and — and  I  fear  I  am  far  from  being 


A    BUSINESS   MARRIAGE  173 

well  now.  I  fear  you  will  be  disappointed — that  it  is  not 
right  to  you,  and  that  I  may  not  be  able — " 

"Alida,"  interrupted  Holcroft,  gravely,  "I'm  not  one  to 
break  my  word.  Home  and  quiet  will  soon  restore  you. 
Answer  the  justice  and  tell  him  the  exact  truth." 

No  elixir  could  have  brought  hope  and  courage  like  that 
word  "home."  She  rose  at  once  and  said  to  Harkins,  "I 
have  consented  to  Mr.  Holcroft's  wishes  with  feelings  of  the 
deepest  gratitude." 

"Very  well.     Join  hands." 

She  hesitated  and  looked  for  a  moment  at  Holcroft  with 
strange  intensity. 

"It's  all  right,  Alida,"  he  said  with  a  smile.     "Come." 

His  perfect  honesty  and  steadfastness  of  purpose  stood 
him  in  good  stead  then,  for  she  came  at  once  to  his  side  and 
took  his  hand. 

Justice  Harkins  solemnly  opened  his  big  book  and  read, 
"  'By  this  act  of  joining  hands  you  do  take  each  other  as 
husband  and  wife.  Therefore,  in  accordance  with  the  law 
of  the  State  of  New  York,  I  do  hereby  pronounce  you  hus- 
band and  wife.'  That's  all." 

"I  don't  think  you'll  ever  be  sorry,  Alida,"  said  Holcroft, 
pressing  her  hand  as  he  led  her  to  a  chair.  Watterly  again 
bustled  up  with  congratulations,  and  then  said,  "You  must 
all  come  out  now  to  a  little  supper,  and  also  remember  that 
it  was  gotten  up  in  a  hurry." 

The  domestic  stared  at  Alida  and  Holcroft,  and  then,  sur- 
mising what  had  taken  place,  was  so  excited  that  she  could 
scarcely  wait  on  the  guests. 

Holcroft,  with  the  simple  tact  which  genuine  kindness 
usually  suggests,  was  attentive  to  his  bride,  but  managed,  by 
no  slight  effort  for  him,  to  engage  the  two  men  in  general 
conversation,  so  that  Alida  might  have  time  to  recover  her 
composure.  His  quiet,  matter-of-fact  bearing  was  re-assur- 
ing in  itself.  A  cup  of  strong  tea  and  a  little  old  currant 
wine,  which  Watterly  insisted  on  her  taking,  brightened  her 
up  not  a  little.  Indeed,  her  weakness  was  now  largely  duo 


174  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

to  the  want  of  nourishment  suited  to  her  feeble  condition. 
Moreover,  both  nerves  and  mind  found  relief  and  rest  in  the 
consciousness  that  the  decisive  step  had  been  taken.  She 
was  no  longer  shuddering  and  recoiling  from  a  past  in  which 
each  day  had  revealed  more  disheartening  elements.  'Her 
face  was  now  toward  a  future  that  promised  a  refuge, 
security,  and  even  hope. 

The  quiet  meal  was  soon  over.  Holcrof  t  put  a  five  dollar 
bill  in  the  hands  of  the  justice,  who  filled  in  a  certificate 
and  departed,  feeling  that  the  afternoon  had  not  been  spent 


in  vain. 

a. 


Jim,"  said  Watterly,  drawing  his  friend  aside,  "you'll 
want  to  make  some  purchases.  You  know  she's  only  what 
she  wears.  How  are  you  off  for  money  ?" 

"Well,  Tom,  you  know  I  didn't  expect  anything  of  this 
kind  when — " 

"Of  course  I  know  it.     Will  fifty  answer?" 

"Yes.  You're  a  good  friend.  I'll  return  it  in  a  day  or 
two." 

"Return  it  when  you're  a  mind  to. — I  say,  Alida,  I  want 
you  to  take  this.  Jim  Holcroft  can't  get  married  and  his 
bride  not  receive  a  present  from  me,"  and  he  put  ten  dollars 
in  her  hand. 

Tears  rushed  to  her  eyes  as  she  turned  them  inquiringly 
to  Holcroft  to  know  what  she  should  do. 

"Now  see  here,  Tom,  you've  done  too  much  for  us 
already." 

"Shut  up,  Jim  Holcroft.  Don't  you  end  the  day  by 
hurting  my  feelings.  It's  perfectly  right  and  proper  for  me 
to  do  this. — Good-by,  Alida.  I  don't  believe  you'll  ever  be 
sorry  you  found  your  way  to  my  hotel." 

Alida  took  his  proffered  hand,  but  could  only  falter,  "I 
— I  can  never  forget." 


JONATHAN'S   IMPRESSION    OF   THE   BRIDE          175 


CHAPTEK  XX 

UNCLE  JONATHAN'S  IMPRESSION  OF  THE  BEIDE 


"  IV  I  OW,  Alida,"  said  Holcroft,  as  they  drove  away,  "re- 

\]  member  that  we  are  two  middle-aged,  sensible 
*  ^  people.  At  least  I'm  middle-aged  and  fairly  sen- 
sible, too,  I  hope.  You'll  need  to  buy  some  things  and 
I  want  you  to  get  all  you  need.  Don't  stint  yourself,  and 
you  needn't  hurry  so  as  to  get  tired,  for  we  shall  have  moon- 
light and  there's  no  use  trying  to  get  home  before  dark.  Is 
there  any  particular  store  which  you'd  like  to  go  to?" 

"No,  sir,  only  I'd  rather  go  over  on  the  east  side  of  town 
where  I'm  not  known." 

"That  suits  me,  for  it's  the  side  nearest  home  and  I  am 
known  there." 

"Perhaps  —  perhaps  you  also  would  rather  go  this  even- 
ing where  you  are  not  known,"  she  said,  hesitatingly. 

"It  makes  no  difference  to  me.  In  fact,  I  know  of  a 
place  where  you'll  have  a  good  choice  at  reasonable  rates." 

"I'll  go  where  you  wish,"  she  said,  quietly. 

They  soon  entered  a  large  shop  together,  and  the  pro- 
prietor said,  pleasantly,  "Good  evening,  Mr.  Holcroft." 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Jasper.  My  wife  wants  to  get 
some  things.  If  you'll  be  good  enough  to  wait  on  her  I'll 
step  out  to  do  two  or  three  errands." 

The  merchant  looked  curiously  at  Alida,  but  was  too 
polite  to  ask  questions  or  make  comments  on  her  very 
simple  purchases.  Her  old  skill  and  training  were  of  ser- 
vice now.  She  knew  just  what  she  absolutely  needed  and 
bought  no  more. 


176  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

Holcroft  laid  in  a  good  stock  of  groceries  and  some  juicy 
beef  and  then  returned.  When  Mr.  Jasper  gave  him  his 
bill,  he  went  to  Alida,  who  was  resting,  and  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "This  won't  do  at  all.  You  can't  have  bought  half 
enough." 

For  the  first  time,  something  like  a  smile  flitted  across 
her  face,  as  she  replied,  "It's  enough  to  begin  with.  I 
know." 

"Really,  Mr.  Holcroft,  I  didn't  know  you  were  mar- 
ried," said  the  merchant.  "I  must  congratulate  you." 

"Well,  I  am.     Thank  you.     Good-night" 

A  few  moments  later,  he  and  his  wife  were  bowling  out 
of  town  toward  the  hills.  Reaching  one  of  these,  the  horses 
came  down  to  a  walk  and  Holcroft  turned  and  said,  "Are 
you  very  tired,  Alida?  I'm  troubled  about  you  taking  this 
long  ride.  You  have  been  so  sick." 

"I'm  sorry  I'm  not  stronger,  sir,  but  the  fresh  air  seems 
to  do  me  good  and  I  think  I  can  stand  it." 

"You  didn't  promise  to  obey  me,  did  you  ?"  with  a  rather 
nervous  little  laugh. 

"No,  sir,  but  I  will." 

"That's  a  good  beginning.  ISTow  see  what  an  old  tyrant 
I  am.  In  the  first  place,  I  don't  want  you  to  say  "sir"  to 
me  any  more.  My  name  is  James.  In  the  second  place, 
you  must  work  only  as  I  let  you.  Your  first  business  is  to 
get  strong  and  well,  and  you  know  we  agreed  to  marry  on 
strictly  business  grounds." 

"I  understand  it  well,  but  I  think  you  are  very  kind  for  a 
business  man." 

"Oh,  as  to  that,  if  I  do  say  it  of  myself,  I  don't  think  it's 
my  nature  to  be  hard  on  those  who  treat  me  square.  I  think 
we  shall  be  very  good  friends  in  our  quiet  way,  and  that's 
more  than  can  be  said  of  a  good  many  who  promise  more 
than  they  seem  to  remember  afterward." 

"I  will  try  to  do  all  you  wish,  for  I  am  very  grateful." 

"If  you  do,  you  may  find  I'm  as  grateful  as  you  are." 

"That  can  never  be.     Your  need  and  mine  were  very 


JONATHAN'S   IMPRESSION  OF   THE   BRIDE          177 

different.  But  I  shall  try  to  show  my  gratitude  by  learning 
your  ways  and  wishes  and  not  by  many  words  of  thanks." 

"Thank  the  Lord!"  mentally  ejaculated  the  farmer, 
"there's  no  Mrs.  Mumpson  in  this  case;"  but  he  only  said, 
kindly,  "I  think  we  understand  each  other  now,  Alida.  I'm 
not  a  man  of  words  either,  and  I  had  better  show  by  actions 
also  what  I  am.  The  fact  is,  although  we  are  married,  we 
are  scarcely  acquainted,  and  people  can't  get  acquainted  in 
a  day." 

The  first  long  hill  was  surmounted  and  away  they  bowled 
again,  past  cottage  and  farmhouse,  through  strips  of  wood- 
land and  between  dusky  fields  from  which  came  the  fra- 
grance of  the  springing  grass  and  the  peepings  of  the  hylas. 
The  moon  soon  rose,  full-orbed,  above  the  higher  eastern 
hills,  and  the  mild  April  evening  became  luminous  and  full 
of  beauty. 

A  healing  sense  of  quiet  and  security  already  began  to 
steal  into  Alida's  bruised  heart.  In  turning  her  back  upon 
the  town  in  which  she  had  suffered  so  greatly,  she  felt  like 
one  escaping  from  prison  and  torture.  An  increasing  assur- 
ance of  safety  came  with  every  mile;  the  cool,  still  radiance 
of  the  night  appeared  typical  of  her  new  and  most  unex- 
pected experience.  Light  had  risen  on  her  shadowed  path, 
but  it  was  not  warm,  vivifying  sunlight  which  stimulates  and 
develops.  A  few  hours  before,  she  was  in  darkness  which 
might  be  felt — yet  it  was  a  gloom  shot  through  and  through 
with  lurid,  threatening  gleams.  It  had  seemed  to  her  that 
she  had  fallen  from  home,  happiness  and  honor  to  unfath- 
omed  depths,  and  yet  there  had  appeared  to  be  deeper  and 
darker  abysses  on  every  side.  She  had  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  going  out  into  the  world,  feeling  that  her  misfor- 
tune would  awaken  suspicion  rather  than  sympathy,  scorn 
instead  of  kindness;  that  she  must  toil  on  until  death,  to 
sustain  a  life  to  which  death  would  come  as  God's  welcome 
messenger.  Then  had  come  this  man  at  her  side,  with  his 
comparatively  trivial  troubles  and  perplexities,  and  he  had 
asked  her  help — she  who  was  so  helpless.  He  had  banished 


178  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

despair  from  her  earthly  future,  he  had  lifted  her  up  and  was 
bearing  her  away  from  all  which  she  had  so  dreaded;  noth- 
ing had  been  asked  which  her  crushed  spirit  was  unable  to 
bestow;  she  was  simply  expected  to  aid  him  in  his  natural 
wish  to  keep  his  home  and  to  live  where  he  had  always  dwelt. 
His  very  inability  to  understand  her,  to  see  her  broken, 
trampled  life  and  immeasurable  need  as  she  saw  it,  brought 
quietness  of  mind.  The  concentration  of  his  thoughts  on  a 
few  homely  and  simple  hopes  gave  her  immunity.  With 
quick  intuition,  she  divined  that  she  had  not  a  whimsical, 
jealous,  exacting  nature  to  deal  with.  He  was  the  plain, 
matter-of-fact  man  he  seemed,  so  literal  and  absolutely 
truthful  that  he  would  appear  odd  to  most  people.  To  her 
mind,  his  were  the  traits  which  she  could  now  most  wel- 
come and  value.  He  knew  all  about  her,  she  had  merely 
to  be  herself,  to  do  what  she  had  promised,  in  order  to  rest 
securely  on  his  rock-like  truth.  He  had  again  touched  a 
deep,  grateful  chord  in  speaking  of  her  to  the  shopkeeper  as 
his  wife ;  he  showed  no  disposition  whatever  to  shrink  from 
the  relation  before  the  world;  it  was  evident  that  he  meant 
to  treat  her  with  respect  and  kindness,  and  to  exact  respect 
from  others.  For  all  this,  while  sitting  quietly  and  silently 
at  his  side,  she  thanked  him  almost  passionately  in  her  heart ; 
but  far  more  than  for  all  this  she  was  glad  and  grateful  that 
he  would  not  expect  what  she  now  felt  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble for  her  to  give — the  love  and  personal  devotion  which 
had  been  inseparable  from  marriage  in  her  girlhood  thoughts. 
He  would  make  good  his  words — she  would  be  his  wife 
in  name  and  be  respected  as  such.  He  was  too  simple  and 
true  to  himself  and  his  buried  love,  too  considerate  of  her,  to 
expect  more.  She  might  hope,  therefore,  as  he  had  said, 
that  they  might  be  helpful,  loyal  friends,  and  he  would  have 
been  surprised  indeed  had  he  known  how  the  pale,  silent 
woman  beside  him  was  longing  and  hoping  to  fill  his  home 
with  comfort. 

Thoughts  like  these  had  inspired  and  sustained  her  while 
at  the  same  time  administering  the  balm  of  hope.     The  quiet 


JONATHAN'S   IMPRESSION   OF   THE   BRIDE          179 

face  of  nature,  lovely  in  the  moonlight,  seemed  to  welcome 
and  reassure  her.  Happy  are  those  who,  when  sorely 
wounded  in  life,  can  turn  to  the  natural  world  and  find  in 
every  tree,  shrub  and  flower  a  comforting  friend  that  will 
not  turn  from  them.  Such  are  not  far  from  God  and  peace. 

The  range  of  Holcroft's  thoughts  was  far  simpler  and 
narrower  than  Alida's.  He  turned  rather  deliberately  from 
the  past,  preferring  to  dwell  on  the  probable  consummation 
of  his  hope.  His  home,  his  farm,  were  far  more  to  him  than 
the  woman  he  had  married.  He  had  wedded  her  for  their 
sake,  and  his  thoughts  followed  his  heart,  which  was  in  his 
hillside  acres.  It  is  said  that  women  often  marry  for  a 
home;  he  truly  had  done  so  to  keep  his  home.  The  ques- 
tion which  now  most  occupied  him  was  the  prospect  of  doing 
this  through  quiet,  prosperous  years.  He  dwelt  minutely 
on  Alida's  manner,  as  well  as  her  words,  and  found  noth- 
ing to  shake  his  belief  that  she  had  been  as  truthful  as  him- 
self. Nevertheless,  he  queried  in  regard  to  the  future 
with  not  a  little  anxiety.  In  her  present  distress  and  poverty 
she  might  naturally  be  glad  of  the  refuge  he  had  offered ;  but 
as  time  passed,  and  the  poignancy  of  bitter  memories  was 
allayed,  might  not  her  life  on  the  farm  seem  monotonous 
and  dull,  might  not  weariness  and  discontent  come  into  her 
eyes  in  place  of  gratitude?  "Well,  well,"  he  concluded, 
"this  marrying  is  a  risky  experiment  at  best,  but  Tom  "Wat- 
terly's  talk  and  her  manner  seemed  to  shut  me  up  to  it.  I 
was  made  to  feel  that  I  couldn't  go  on  in  any  other  way; 
and  I  haven't  done  anything  underhanded  or  wrong,  as  I 
see,  for  the  chance  of  going  on.  If  I  hadn't  become  such  a 
heathen,  I  should  say  there  was  a  Providence  in  it,  but  I 
don't  know  what  to  think  about  such  things  any  more. 
Time'll  show,  and  the  prospect  is  better  than  it  has  been  yet. 
She'll  never  be  sorry  if  she  carries  out  the  agreement  made 
to-day,  if  kindness  and  good-will  can  repay  her." 

Thus  it  may  be  seen  that  although  two  life  currents  had 
become  parallel,  they  were  still  very  distinct. 

By  the  time  Holcroft  approached  the  lane  leading  to  his 


180  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

dwelling  Alida  was  growing  very  weary,  and  felt  that  her 
endurance  had  almost  reached  its  limit.  Her  face  was  so 
white  in  the  moonlight  that  he  asked,  solicitously,  "You  can 
stand  it  a  little  longer,  can't  you  ?" 

"  I'll  try.     I'm  very  sorry  I'm  not  stronger." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that.  You  won't  know  yourself 
in  a  week.  Here  we  are  at  the  lane  and  there's  the  house 
yonder.  A  moment  or  two  more  and  you'll  be  by  the  fire." 

A  loud  barking  startled  old  Jonathan  Johnson  out  of  his 
doze,  and  he  hastened  to  replenish  the  fire  and  to  call  off 
his  rather  savage  dog.  He  was  a  little  surprised  to  see  Hoi- 
croft  driving  toward  the  kitchen  door  with  a  woman  by  his 
side.  "He's  tried  his  luck  with  anuther  of  them  town  gals," 
he  muttered,  "but,  Jerusalem!  she  won't  stay  a  week,  an' 
my  old  woman'll  have  the  washin'  an  mendin'  all  the  same." 

He  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears  and  eyes  when  he  heard 
the  farmer  say,  "Alida,  you  must  let  me  lift  you  out,"  and 
then  saw  the  "town  gal"  set  gently  on  the  ground,  her  hand 
placed  on  Holcroft's  arm  as  she  was  supported  slowly  and 
carefully  to  the  rocking-chair  beside  the  fire. 

"Jonathan,"  was  the  quiet  announcement,  "this  is  Mrs. 
Holcroft,  my  wife." 

"Jeru — beg  a  pardon.  Wasn't  spectin'  jis'  sich  a  turn 
o'  things. — Respects,  missus.  Sorry  to  see  ye're  enj'yin'  poor 
health." 

"Yes,  Jonathan,  Mrs.  Holcroft  has  been  sick,  but  she's 
much  better  and  will  soon  be  well.  She's  very  tired  now 
from  the  long  drive,  but  quiet  life  and  country  air  will  soon 
make  her  strong. — I'll  just  step  out  and  care  for  the  horses, 
Alida,  and  soon  be  back  again. — You  come  and  help  nio, 
Jonathan,  and  keep  your  dog  off,  too." 

The  old  man  complied  with  rather  poor  grace,  for  he 
would  have  much  preferred  to  interview  the  bride  at  whom 
he  was  staring  with  all  his  weak,  watery  eyes.  Holcroft 
understood  his  neighbor's  peculiarities  too  well  to  subject  his 
wife  to  this  ordeal,  and  was  bent  on  despatching  Jonathan 
homeward  as  soon  as  possible. 


JONATHAN'S   IMPRESSION  OF   THE   BRIDE          181 

"I  say,  Jim,"  said  the  old  guardsman,  who  felt  that  he 
was  speaking  to  the  boy  he  had  known  for  thirty  odd  years, 
"where  on  airth  did  you  pick  up  sich  a  sickly  lookin'  critter  ?" 

"I  didn't  pick  her  up,"  replied  the  farmer,  laughingly, 
"I  married  her  fair  and  square  just  as  you  did  your  wife  a 
hundred  years  ago,  more  or  less.  Haven't  I  as  good  a  right 
to  get  married  as  you  had  ?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  a-disputin'  yer  right,  but  it  seems  so  kind  o' 
suddint  that  it's  taken  what  little  breath  I've  left." 

"How  do  you  know  it's  sudden?  Did  you  go  around 
telling  every  one  how  you  were  getting  on  when  you  were 
a-courting  ?" 

"Well,  I  swan !  yer  got  me.  'Tain't  so  long  ago  that  I 
disremember  we  did  it  on  the  sly." 

"Well  now,  Uncle  Jonathan,  you've  got  nothing  to  say 
against  me,  for  I  didn't  marry  on  the  sly,  although  I've  gone 
on  the  principle  that  my  business  wasn't  everybody's  busi- 
ness. When  I  saw  your  wife  about  my  washing  and  mend- 
ing I  didn't  know  I  was  going  to  be  lucky  so  soon.  You 
know  you  can't  marry  a  woman  in  this  country  till  she's 
willing.  But  tell  your  wife  she  shan't  lose  anything,  and 
the  next  time  I  go  to  town  I'll  leave  that  settin'  of  eggs  she 
wanted.  Now,  Jonathan,  honor  bright,  do  you  feel  able  to 
walk  home  if  I  give  you  fifty  cents  extra?" 

"Why  sartinly !  s'pose  I'd  take  yer  away  on  sich  a  'casion  ? 
My  wife  wouldn't  let  me  in  if  she  knowed  it." 

"Well,  you  and  your  wife  are  good  neighbors,  and  that's 
more'n  I  can  say  for  most  people  in  these  parts.  Here's 
the  money.  Mrs.  Holcroft  isn't  strong  or  well  enough  to 
talk  any  to-night.  You  got  yourself  a  good  supper,  didn't 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  yes;  helped  myself  bount'fully.  Good-night,  and 
good  luck  ter  yer.  I  can't  help  thinkin'  it  was  kind  o'  sud- 
dint though,  and  then  she's  sich  a  sickly  lookin'  critter. 
Hope  yer  haven't  been  taken  inr  but  then,  as  you  say,  the 
marryin'  business,  like  other  kinds  o'  business,  is  a  man's 
wn  business." 


182  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"I  hope  every  one  will  take  your  sensible  view,  Uncle 
Jonathan.     Good-night." 


CHAPTEK  XXI 

AT    HOME 

A  LTD  A  was  not  so  cold,  weary  and  almost  faint  but  that 
she  looked  around  the  old  kitchen  with  the  strongest 
interest.  This  interest  was  as  unlike  Mrs.  Mump- 
son's  curiosity  as  she  was  unlike  the  widow.  It  is  true  the 
thought  of  self  was  prominent,  yet  hers  were  not  selfish 
thoughts.  There  are  some  blessed  natures  in  the  world  that 
in  doing  the  best  for  themselves  do  the  best  that  is  possible 
for  others. 

The  genial  warmth  of  the  fire  was  grateful  to  her  chilled 
and  enfeebled  frame;  the  homely  kitchen,  with  its  dresser 
of  chinaware,  its  tin-closet  and  pantry,  the  doors  of  which 
old  Jonathan  had  left  open,  man-like,  after  helping  himself 
"bountifully,"  all  suggested  more  comfort  to  this  pallid 
bride,  sitting  there  alone,  than  wealth  of  ornament  in  elegant 
apartments  have  brought  to  many  others.  She  saw  her  chief 
domain,  not  in  its  coarse  and  common  aspect,  but  as  her 
vantage  ground,  from  which  she  could  minister  to  the  com- 
forts of  the  one  who  had  rescued  her.  Few  brides  would 
care  to  enter  the  kitchen  first,  but  she  was  pleased ;  she  who 
had  scarcely  hoped  to  smile  again  looked  smilingly  around 
on  the  quaint,  homelike  room. 

"And  this  is  to  be  my  home,"  she  murmured.  "How 
strange,  unexpected,  yet  natural  it  all  is! — just  what  he  led 
me  to  expect.  The  little  lonely  farmhouse,  where  I  can  be 
safe  from  staring  eyes  and  unwounded  by  cruel  questionings. 
Yet  that  old  man  had  a  dozen  questions  on  his  tongue.  I 
believe  he  took  him  away  to  save  my  feelings.  It's  strange 
that  so  plain  and  simple  a  man  in  most  respects  can  be  so 


AT  HOME  183 

considerate.  Oh,  pray  God  that  all  goes  on  as  it  promises! 
I  couldn't  have  dreamt  it  this  morning,  but  I  have  an  odd, 
homelike  feeling  already.  Well,  since  I  am  at  home  I  may; 
as  well  take  off  my  hat  and  cloak." 

As  she  did  so,  Holcroft  entered  and  said,  heartily, 
"That's  right,  Alida.  You  are  here  to  stay,  you  know.  You 
mustn't  think  it  amiss  that  I  left  you  a  few  moments  alone, 
for  I  had  to  get  that  talkative  old  man  off  home.  He's  get- 
ting a  little  childish  and  would  fire  questions  at  you  point 
blank." 

"But  shouldn't  you  have  taken  him  home  in  the  wagon? 
I  don't  mind  being  alone." 

"Oh,  no,  he's  spry  enough  to  walk  twice  the  distance  and 
often  does.  It's  light  as  day  outside  and  I  made  it  right 
with  him.  You  can  leave  your  things  up  stairs  in  your 
room,  and  I'll  carry  up  your  bundles  also,  if  you  are  rested 
enough  for  the  journey." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  "I'm  feeling  better  already." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  apartment  that  Mrs.  Mumpson  had 
occupied  and  said,  regretfully,  "I'm  sorry  the  room  looks  so 
bare  and  comfortless,  but  that  will  all  be  mended  in  time. 
When  you  come  down,  we'll  have  some  coffee  and  supper." 

She  soon  re-appeared  in  the  kitchen,  and  he  continued, 
"Now  I'll  show  you  that  I'm  not  such  a  very  helpless  sort 
of  man,  after  all,  so  if  you're  sick  you  needn't  worry.  I'm 
going  to  get  you  a  good  cup  of  coffee  and  broil  you  a  piece 
of  steak." 

"Oh,  please  let  me" — she  began. 

"No;  can't  allow  you  to  do  anything  to-night  but  sit 
in  that  chair.  You  promised  to  mind,  you  know,"  and  he 
smiled  so  genially  that  she  smiled  back  at  him,  although 
tears  came  into  her  eyes. 

"I  can't  realize  it  all,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  "To 
think  how  this  day  began  and  how  it  is  ending?" 

"It's  ending  in  a  poor  man's  kitchen,  Alida.  It  was 
rather  rough  to  bring  you  in  here  first,  but  the  parlor  is  cold 
and  comfortless." 


184  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

"I  would  rather  be  brought  here.  It  seems  to  me  that 
it  must  be  a  light  and  cheerful  room." 

"Yes,  the  sun  shines  in  these  east  windows,  and  there's 
another  window  facing  the  south,  so  it's  light  all  day  long." 

She  watched  him  curiously,  and  with  not  a  little  self- 
reproach,  as  he  deftly  prepared  supper.  "It's  too  bad  for 
me  to  sit  idle  while  you  do  such  things,  yet  you  do  every- 
thing so  well  that  I  fear  I  shall  seem  awkward.  Still,  I. 
think  I  do  at  least  know  how  to  cook  a  little." 

"If  you  knew  what  I've  had  to  put  up  with  for  a  year 
or  more,  you  wouldn't  worry  about  satisfying  me  in  this 
respect.  Except  when  old  Mrs.  Wiggins  was  here,  I  had 
few  decent  meals  that  I  didn't  get  myself,"  and  then,  to 
cheer  her  up,  he  laughingly  told  her  of  Mrs.  Mumpson's 
essay  at  making  coffee.  He  had  a  certain  dry  humor,  and 
his  unwonted  effort  at  mimicry  was  so  droll  in  itself  that 
Alida  was  startled  to  hear  her  own  voice  in  laughter,  and 
she  looked  almost  frightened,  so  deeply  had  she  been  im- 
pressed that  it  would  never  be  possible  or  even  right  for  her 
to  laugh  again. 

The  farmer  was  secretly  much  pleased  at  his  success.  If 
she  would  laugh,  be  cheerful  and  not  brood,  he  felt  sure 
she  would  get  well  and  be  more  contented.  The  desperate 
view  she  had  taken  of  her  misfortunes  troubled  him,  and  he 
had  thought  it  possible  that  she  might  sink  into  despondency 
and  something  like  invalidism;  but  that  involuntary  bubble 
of  laughter  re-assured  him.  "Quiet,  wholesome,  cheerful 
life  will  restore  her  to  health,"  he  thought,  as  he  put  his 
favorite  beverage  and  the  sputtering  steak  on  the  table. 
"Now,"  he  said,  placing  a  chair  at  the  table,  "you  can  pour 
me  a  cup  of  coffee." 

"I'm  glad  I  can  do  something,"  she  answered,  "for  I 
can't  get  over  the  strangeness  of  being  so  waited  on.  In- 
deed, everything  that  was  unexpected  or  undreamed  of  has 
happened,"  and  there  was  just  the  faintest  bit  of  color  on 
her  cheeks  as  she  sat  down  opposite  him. 

Few  men  are  insensible  to  simple,   natural,   womanly 


AT   HOME  185 

grace,  and  poor  Holcroft,  who  so  long  had  been  compelled  to 
see  at  his  table  "perfect  terrors,"  as  he  called  them,  was 
agreeably  impressed  by  the  contrast  she  made  with  the 
Mumpson  and  Malony  species.  Alida  unconsciously  had  a 
subtile  charm  of  carriage  and  action,  learned  in  her  long 
past  and  happy  girlhood,  when  all  her  associations  were  good 
and  refined.  Still,  in  its  truest  explanation,  this  grace  is 
native  and  not  acquired;  it  is  a  personal  trait.  Incapable 
of  nice  analysis  or  fine  definitions,  he  only  thought,  "How 
much  pleasanter  it  is  to  see  at  the  table  a  quiet,  sensible 
woman  instead  of  a  'peculiar  female'  !"  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  supplemented  her  remark  by  saying,  "Perhaps 
things  are  turning  out  for  both  of  us  better  than  we  expected. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  this  morning  to  live  here  like  a  her- 
mit, get  my  own  meals,  and  all  that.  I  actually  had  the 
rough  draught  of  an  auction-bill  in  my  pocket — yes,  here  it 
is  now — and  was  going  to  sell  my  cows,  give  up  my  dairy 
and  try  to  make  my  living  in  a  way  that  wouldn't  require 
any  woman  help.  That's  what  took  me  up  to  Tom  Wat- 
terly's ;  I  wanted  him  to  help  me  put  the  bill  in  shape.  He 
wouldn't  look  at  it,  and  talked  me  right  out  of  trying  to  live 
like  Robinson  Crusoe,  as  he  expressed  it.  I  had  been  quite 
cheerful  over  my  prospects;  indeed,  I  was  almost  happy  in 
being  alone  again  after  having  such  terrors  in  the  house. 
But,  as  I  said,  Watterly  talked  all  the  courage  and  hope  right 
out  of  me,  and  made  it  clear  that  I  couldn't  go  it  alone.  You 
see,  Tom  and  I  have  been  friends  since  we  were  boys  to- 
gether, and  that's  the  reason  he  talks  so  plain  to  me." 

"He  has  a  good,  kind  heart,"  said  Alida.  "I  don't  think 
I  could  have  kept  up  at  all  had  it  not  been  for  his  kindness." 

"Yes,  Tom's  a  rough  diamond.  He  don't  make  any  pre- 
tences, and  looks  upon  himself  as  a  rather  hard  case,  but  I 
fancy  he's  doing  kind  things  in  his  rough  way  half  the  time. 
Well,  as  we  were  talking,  he  remembered  you,  and  he  spoke 
of  you  so  feelingly  and  told  your  story  with  so  much  honest 
sympathy  that  he  awoke  my  sympathy.  Now  you  know  how 
it  has  all  come  about.  You  see  it's  all  natural  enough  and 


i86  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

simple  enough,  and  probably  it's  the  best  thing  that  could 
have  happened  for  us  both.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  get 
strong  and  well,  and  then  it  won't  be  any  one-sided  affair,  as 
you've  been  too  much  inclined  to  think.  I  can  go  on  and 
keep  my  farm  and  home  just  as  my  heart  is  bent  on  doing. 
I  want  you  to  understand  everything,  for  then  your  mind 
will  be  more  satisfied  and  at  rest,  and  that's  half  the  battle 
in  getting  over  sickness  and  trouble  like  yours." 

"I  can  only  thank  God  and  you  for  the  great  change  in 
my  prospects.  This  quiet  and  escape  from  strangers  are 
just  what  I  most  craved,  and  I  am  already  beginning  to  hope 
that  if  I  can  learn  to  do  all  you  wish,  I  shall  find  a  content 
that  I  never  hoped  for,"  and  the  tears  that  stood  in  her  eyes 
were  witnesses  of  her  sincerity. 

"Well,  don't  expect  to  learn  everything  at  once.  Let 
me  have  my  way  for  awhile,  and  then  you'll  find,  as  you  get 
strong,  and  the  busy  season  comes  on,  that  I'll  be  so  taken 
up  with  the  farm  that  you'll  have  your  own  way.  Won't  you 
have  some  more  steak?  No?  Well,  you've  enjoyed  your 
supper  a  little,  haven't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  smiling,  "I  actually  felt  hungry  when 
I  sat  down,  and  the  coffee  has  taken  away  the  tired,  faint 
feeling." 

"I  hope  you'll  soon  be  good  and  hungry  three  times  a 
day,"  he  said,  laughing  pleasantly. 

"You'll  at  least  let  me  clear  the  table?"  she  asked.  "I 
feel  so  much  better." 

"Yes,  if  you  are  sure  you're  strong  enough.  It  may  make 
you  feel  more  at  home.  But  drop  everything  till  to-morrow, 
when  tired.  I  must  go  out  and  do  my  night  work,  and  it's 
night  work  now,  sure  enough." 

"It's  too  bad !"  she  said,  sympathetically. 

"What!  to  go  out  and  feed  my  stock  this  clear,  bright 
night?  and  after  a  hearty  supper,  too?  Such  farming  is 
fun.  I  feel,  too,  as  if  I  wanted  to  go  and  pat  the  cows  all 
around  in  my  gladness  that  I'm  not  going  to  sell  them.  Now 


AT  HOME  187 

remember,  let  everything  go  till  morning  as  soon  as  you  feel 
tired." 

She  nodded  smilingly  and  set  to  work.  Standing  in  the 
shadow  of  a  hemlock,  he  watched  her  for  a  few  moments. 
Her  movements  were  slow,  as  would  be  natural  to  one  who 
had  been  so  reduced  by  illness,  but  this  very  evidence  of 
feebleness  touched  his  feelings.  "She  is  eager  to  begin — 
too  eager.  No  nonsense  there  about  'menial  tasks.'  Well, 
it  does  give  one  hope  to  see  such  a  woman  as  that  in  the 
old  kitchen,"  and  then  the  hungry  cattle  welcomed  him. 

The  traveller  feels  safe  after  the  fierce  Arab  of  the  desert 
has  broken  bread  with  him.  It  would  seem  that  a  deep 
principle  of  human  nature  is  involved  in  this  act.  More 
than  the  restoring  power  of  the  nourishment  itself  was  the 
moral  effect  for  Alida  of  that  first  meal  in  her  husband's 
home.  It  was  another  step  in  what  he  had  said  was  essen- 
tial— the  forming  of  his  acquaintance.  She  had  seen  from 
the  first  that  he  was  plain  and  unpolished — that  he  had 
not  the  veneer  of  gentility  of  the  man  she  had  so  mistakenly 
married,  yet  in  his  simple  truth  he  was  inspiring  a  respect 
which  she  had  never  felt  for  any  man  before.  "What  ele- 
ment of  real  courtesy  has  been  wanting  ?"  she  asked  herself. 
"If  this  is  an  earnest  of  the  future,  thank  God  for  the  real. 
I've  found  to  my  cost  what  a  clever  imitation  of  a  man 
means." 

It  was  as  sweet  as  it  was  strange  to  think  that  she,  who 
had  trembled  at  the  necessity  of  becoming  almost  a  slave  to 
unfeeling  strangers,  had  been  compelled  to  rest  while  a  hus- 
band performed  tasks  naturally  hers.  It  was  all  very  home- 
ly, yet  the  significance  of  the  act  was  chivalrous  considera- 
tion for  her  weakness ;  the  place,  the  nature  of  the  ministry 
could  not  degrade  the  meaning  of  his  action.  Then,  too, 
during  the  meal  he  had  spoken  natural,  kindly  words  which 
gave  to  their  breaking  of  bread  together  the  true  interpreta- 
tion. Although  so  feeble  and  weary,  she  found  a  deep  satis- 
faction in  beginning  her  household  work.  "It  does  make  me 


188  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

feel  more  at  home,"  she  said.  "Strange  that  he  should  have 
thought  of  it." 

She  had  finished  her  task  and  sat  down  again  when  he 
entered  with  a  pail  of  milk.  Taking  a  dipper  with  a  strainer 
on  one  side  of  it,  he  poured  out  a  tumblerful.  "Now  take 
this/'  he  said.  "I've  always  heard  that  milk  fresh  from  the 
cow  was  very  strengthening.  Then  go  and  sleep  till  you  are 
thoroughly  rested,  and  don't  think  of  coming  down  in  the 
morning  till  you  feel  like  it.  I'll  make  the  fire  and  get 
breakfast.  You  have  seen  how  easily  I  can  do  it.  I  have 
several  more  cows  to  milk  and  so  will  say  'good-night' ' 

"Good-night,  and  may  God  always  bless  you  for  your 
kindness  to  me  to-day." 

For  the  first  time  since  chaos  had  come  into  her  life, 
Alida  slept  soundly  and  refreshingly,  unpursued  by  the  fears 
which  had  haunted  even  her  dreams.  When  she  awoke,  she 
expected  to  see  the  gray  locks  and  repulsive  features  of  the 
woman  who  had  occupied  the  apartment  with  her  at  the 
almshouse,  but  she  was  alone  in  a  small,  strange  room. 
Then  memory  gathered  up  the  threads  of  the  past;  but  so 
strange,  so  blessed  did  the  truth  seem  that  she  hastened  to 
dress  and  go  down  to  the  old  kitchen  and  assure  herself  that 
her  mind  had  not  become  shattered  by  her  troubles  and  was 
mocking  her  with  unreal  fancies.  The  scene  she  looked 
upon  would  have  soothed  and  reassured  her  even  had  her 
mind  been  as  disordered  as  she,  for  the  moment,  had  been 
tempted  to  believe.  There  was  the  same  homely  room  which 
had  pictured  itself  so  deeply  on  her  memory  the  evening  be- 
fore. Now  it  was  more  attractive,  for  the  morning  sun  was 
shining  into  it,  lighting  up  its  homely  details  with  a  whole- 
some, cheerful  reality  which  made  it  difficult  to  believe  that 
there  were  tragic  experiences  in  the  world.  The  wood-fire 
in  the  stove  crackled  merrily,  and  the  lid  of  the  kettle  was 
already  bobbing  up  and  down  from  internal  commotion. 

As  she  opened  the  door,  a  burst  of  song  entered,  securing 
her  attention.  She  had  heard  the  birds  before  without  rec- 
ognizing consciousness,  as  is  so  often  true  of  our  own  con- 


AT  HOME  189 

dition  in  regard  to  the  familiar  sounds  of  nature.  It  was 
now  almost  as  if  she  had  received  another  sense,  so  strong, 
sweet  and  cheering  was  the  symphony.  Robins,  song-spar- 
rows, blackbirds,  seemed  to  have  gathered  in  the  trees  near 
by,  to  give  her  a  jubilant  welcome ;  but  she  soon  found  that 
the  music  shaded  off  to  distant,  dream-like  notes,  and  remem- 
bered that  it  was  a  morning  chorus  of  a  hemisphere.  This 
universality  did  not  render  the  melody  less  personally  grate- 
ful. We  can  appropriate  all  that  is  lovely  in  Nature,  yet 
leave  all  for  others.  As  she  stood  listening,  and  inhaling 
the  soft  air,  full  of  the  delicious  perfume  of  the  grass  and 
expanding  buds,  and  looking  through  the  misty  sunshine  on 
the  half-veiled  landscape,  she  heard  Holcroft's  voice,  chiding 
some  unruly  animal  in  the  barnyard. 

This  recalled  her,  and  with  the  elasticity  of  returning 
health  and  hope,  she  set  about  getting  breakfast. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  never  heard  birds  sing  before," 
she  thought,  "and  their  songs  this  morning  are  almost  like 
the  music  of  heaven.  They  seem  as  happy  and  unconscious 
of  fear  and  trouble  as  if  they  were  angels.  Mother  and  I 
used  to  talk  about  the  Garden  of  Eden,  but  could  the  air 
have  been  sweeter,  or  the  sunshine  more  tempered  to  just 
the  right  degree  of  warmth  and  brightness  than  here  about 
my  home?  Oh,  thank  God  again,  again  and  forever,  for  a 
home  like  this,"  and  for  a  few  moments  something  of  the 
ecstasy  of  one  delivered  from  the  black  thraldom  of  evil 
filled  her  soul.  She  paused  now  and  then  to  listen  to  the 
birds,  for  only  their  songs  seemed  capable  of  expressing  her 
emotion.  It  was  but  another  proof  that  heavenly  thoughts 
and  homely  work  may  go  on  together. 


190  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER    XXII 

GETTING     ACQUAINTED 

IT  was  still  early,  and  Holcroft  was  under  the  impression 
that  Alida  would  sleep  late  after  the  severe  fatigues  of 
the  preceding  day.  He  therefore  continued  his  work 
at  the  barn  sufficiently  long  to  give  his  wife  time  for  her 
little  surprise.  She  was  not  long  in  finding  and  laying  her 
hands  on  the  simple  materials  for  breakfast.  A  ham  hung 
in  the  pantry,  and  beneath  it  was  a  great  basket  of  eggs, 
while  the  flour  barrel  stood  in  the  corner.  Biscuits  were 
soon  in  the  oven,  eggs  conjured  into  an  omelet,  and  the  ham 
cut  into  delicate  slices,  instead  of  great  coarse  steaks.  Re- 
membering Mrs.  Mumpson's  failure  with  the  coffee,  she 
made  it  a  trifle  strong  and  boiled  the  milk  that  should  temper 
without  cooling  it.  The  biscuits  rose  like  her  own  spirits, 
the  omelet  speedily  began  to  take  on  color  like  her  own 
flushed  face  as  she  busied  herself  about  the  stove. 

Everything  was  nearly  ready  when  she  saw  Holcroft 
coming  toward  the  house  with  two  pails  of  milk.  He  took 
them  to  the  large  dairy  room  under  the  parlor  and  then  came 
briskly  to  the  kitchen.  She  stood,  screened  by  the  door  as 
he  entered,  then  stopped  and  stared  at  the  table  all  set,  and 
at  the  inviting  breakfast  on  the  stove. 

Seeing  Alida's  half-smiling,  half-questioning  face,  seek- 
ing his  approval,  he  exclaimed,  "Well,  you  have  stolen  a 
march  on  me.  I  supposed  you  were  asleep  yet." 

"I  felt  so  much  stronger  and  better  when  I  awoke  that  I 
thought  you  wouldn't  mind  if  I  came  down  and  made  a 
beginning." 


GETTING   ACQUAINTED  191 

"You  call  this  a  beginning,  do  you  ?  such  a  breakfast  as 
this  before  seven  in  the  morning  ?  I  hope  you  haven't  over- 
taxed yourself." 

"No,  only  a  little  of  just  the  right  kind  of  tired  feeling." 

"Haven't  you  left  anything  for  me  to  do  ?" 

"Perhaps.  You  will  know  when  I've  put  all  on  the 
table.  What  I've  prepared  is  ready." 

"Well,  this  is  famous.  I'll  go  and  wash  and  fix  up  a 
little  and  be  right  down." 

When  Holcroft  returned,  he  looked  at  her  curiously,  for 
he  felt  that  he,  too,  was  getting  acquainted.  Her  thin  face 
was  made  more  youthful  by  color;  a  pleased  look  was  in 
her  blue  eyes  and  a  certain  neatness  and  trimness  about  her 
dress,  to  which  he  had  not  been  accustomed.  He  scanned 
the  table  wonderingly,  for  things  were  not  put  upon  it  at 
haphazard;  the  light  biscuits  turned  their  brown  cheeks  in- 
vitingly toward  him — she  had  arranged  that  they  should  do 
that — the  ham  was  crisp,  not  sodden,  and  the  omelet  as  russet 
as  a  November  leaf.  "This  is  a  new  dish,"  he  said,  looking 
at  it  closely.  "What  do  you  call  it  ?" 

"Omelet.  Perhaps  you  won't  like  it,  but  mother  used  to 
be  very  fond  of  it." 

"No  matter.  We'll  have  it  if  you  like  it  and  it  brings 
you  pleasant  thoughts  of  your  mother."  Then  he  took  a 
good  sip  of  his  coffee  and  set  the  cup  down  again  as  he  had 
before  under  the  Mumpson  regime,  but  with  a  very  different 
expression.  She  looked  anxiously  at  him,  but  was  quickly 
reassured.  "I  thought  I  knew  how  to  make  coffee,  but  I 
find  I  don'ti  I  never  tasted  anything  so  good  as  that.  How 
do  you  make  it  ?" 

"Just  as  mother  taught  me." 

"Well,  well,  and  you  call  this  making  a  beginning?  I 
just  wish  I  could  give  Tom  Watterly  a  cup  of  this  coffee. 
It  would  set  his  mind  at  rest.  'By  jocks!'  he  would  say, 
'isn't  that  better  than  going  it  alone  ?' ' 

She  looked  positively  happy  under  this  sweet  incense  to 
a  housewifely  heart.  She  was  being  paid  in  the  coin  that 


192  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

women  love  best,  and  it  was  all  the  more  precious  to  her 
because  she  had  never  expected  to  receive  it  again. 

He  did  like  the  omelet;  he  liked  everything,  and,  after 
helping  her  liberally,  cleared  the  table,  then  said  he  felt 
equal  to  doing  two  men's  work.  Before  going  out  to  his 
work,  he  lighted  a  fire  on  the  parlor  hearth  and  left  a  good' 
supply  of  fuel  beside  it.  "JSTow,  Alida,"  he  remarked, 
humorously,  "I've  already  found  out  that  you  have  one  fault 
that  you  and  I  will  have  to  watch  against.  You  are  too 
willing.  I  fear  you've  gone  beyond  your  strength  this  morn- 
ing. I  don't  want  you  to  do  a  thing  to-day  except  to  get  the 
meals,  and  remember,  I  can  help  in  this  if  you  don't  feel 
well.  There  is  a  fire  in  the  parlor,  and  I've  wheeled  the 
lounge  up  by  it.  Take  it  quietly  to-day,  and  perhaps  to- 
morrow I  can  begin  to  show  you  about  butter-making." 

"I  will  do  as  you  wish,"  she  replied,  "but  please  show 
me  a  little  more  where  things  are  before  you  go  out." 

This  he  did  and  added,  "You'll  find  the  beef  and  some 
other  things  on  a  swing-shelf  in  the  cellar.  The  potato  bins 
are  down  there,  too.  But  don't  try  to  get  up  much  dinner. 
What  come  quickest  and  easiest  will  suit  me.  I'm  a  little 
backward  with  my  work  and  must  plow  all  day  for  oats. 
It's  time  they  were  in.  After  such  a  breakfast,  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  eaten  a  bushel  myself." 

A  few  moments  later,  she  saw  him  going  up  the  lane, 
that  continued  on  past  the  house,  with  his  stout  team  and  the 
plow,  and  she  smiled  as  she  heard  him  whistling  "Coro- 
nation" with  levity,  as  some  good  people  would  have 
thought. 

Plowing  and  planting  time  had  come  and  under  happier 
auspices,  apparently,  than  he  had  ever  imagined  possible 
again.  With  the  lines  about  his  neck,  he  began  with  a  side- 
hill  plow  at  the  bottom  of  a  large,  sloping  field  which  had 
been  in  corn  the  previous  year,  and  the  long,  straight  furrows 
increased  from  a  narrow  strip  to  a  wide,  oblong  area.  "Ah," 
said  he,  in  tones  of  strong  satisfaction,  "the  ground  crumbles 
freely;  it's  just  in  the  right  condition.  I'll  quit  plowing 


GETTING   ACQUAINTED  193 

this  afternoon  in  time  to  harrow  and  sow  all  the  ground 
that's  ready.  Then,  so  much'll  be  all  done  and  well  done. 
It's  curious  how  seed,  if  it  goes  into  the  ground  at  the  right 
time  and  in  the  right  way,  comes  right  along  and  never  gets 
discouraged.  I  ain't  much  on  scientific  farming,  but  I've 
always  observed  that  when  I  sow  or  plant  as  soon  as  the 
ground  is  ready,  I  have  better  luck." 

The  horses  seemed  infected  by  his  own  brisk  spirit,  step- 
ping along  without  urging,  and  the  farmer  was  swept  speed- 
ily into  the  full,  strong  current  of  his  habitual  interests. 

One  might  have  supposed  the  recent  events  would  have 
the  uppermost  place  in  his  thoughts,  but  this  was  not  true. 
He  rather  dwelt  upon  them  as  the  unexpectedly  fortunate 
means  to  the  end  now  attained.  This  was  his  life,  and  he 
was  happy  in  the  thought  that  his  marriage  promised  to 
make  this  life  not  merely  possible,  but  prosperous  and  full 
of  quiet  content. 

The  calling  of  the  born  agriculturist,  like  that  of  the  fish- 
erman, has  in  it  the  element  of  chance  and  is  therefore  full 
of  moderate  yet  lasting  excitement.  Holcroft  knew  that, 
although  he  did  his  best,  much  would  depend  on  the  weather 
and  other  causes.  He  had  met  with  disappointments  in  his 
crops,  and  had  also  achieved  what  he  regarded  as  fine  suc- 
cesses, although  they  would  have  seemed  meagre  on  a  West- 
ern prairie.  Every  spring  kindled  anew  his  hopefulness 
and  anticipation.  He  watched  the  weather  with  the  inter- 
ested and  careful  scrutiny  of  a  sailor,  and  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  his  labor  and  its  results  depended  more  on  natu- 
ral causes  than  upon  his  skill  and  the  careful  use  of 
fertilizers.  He  was  a  farmer  of  the  old  school,  the  tradi- 
tions received  from  his  father  controlled  him  in  the  main. 
Still,  his  good  common  sense  and  long  experience  stood  him 
fairly  well  in  the  place  of  science  and  knowledge  of  improved 
methods,  and  he  was  better  equipped  than  the  man  who  has 
in  his  brain  all  that  the  books  can  teach,  yet  is  without  ex- 
perience. Best  of  all,  he  had  inherited  and  acquired  an 
abiding  love  of  the  soil;  he  never  could  have  been  content 
R— I— XVIII 


194  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

except  in  its  cultivation ;  he  was  therefore  in  the  right  condi- 
tion to  assimilate  fuller  knowledge  and  make  the  most  of  it. 

He  knew  well  enough  when  it  was  about  noon.  From 
long  habit,  he  would  have  known  had  the  sky  been  overcast, 
but  now  his  glance  at  the  sun  was  like  looking  at  a  watch. 
Dusty  and  begrimed,  he  followed  his  team  to  the  barn, 
slipped  from  them  their  headstalls  and  left  them  to  amuse 
themselves  with  a  little  hay  while  they  cooled  sufficiently  for 
heartier  food.  "Well  now,"  he  mused,  "I  wonder  what  that 
little  woman  has  for  dinner  ?  another  new  dish,  like  enough. 
Hanged  if  I'm  fit  to  go  in  the  house,  and  she  looking  so  trim 
and  neat.  I  think  I'll  first  take  a  souse  in  the  brook,"  and 
he  went  up  behind  the  house  where  an  unfailing  stream  gur- 
gled swiftly  down  from  the  hills.  At  the  nearest  point,  a 
small  basin  had  been  hollowed  out,  and  as  he  approached  he 
saw  two  or  three  speckled  trout  darting  away  through  the 
limpid  water. 

"Aha !"  he  muttered,  "glad  you  reminded  me.  When 
she's  stronger,  she  may  enjoy  catching  our  supper  some  after- 
noon. I  must  think  of  all  the  little  things  I  can  to  liven 
her  up,  so  she  won't  get  dull.  It's  curious  how  interested 
I  am  to  know  how  she's  got  along  and  what  she  has  for  din- 
ner. And  to  think  that  less  than  a  week  ago  I  used  to  hate 
to  go  near  the  house !" 

As  he  entered  the  hall  on  his  way  to  his  room,  that  he 
might  make  himself  more  presentable,  an  appetizing  odor 
greeted  him,  and  Alida  smiled  from  the  kitchen  door  as  she 
said,  "Dinner's  ready." 

Apparently  she  had  taken  him  at  his  word,  as  she  had 
prepared  little  else  than  an  Irish  stew ;  yet  when  he  had  par- 
taken of  it,  he  thought  he  would  prefer  Irish  stews  from  that 
time  onward  indefinitely.  "Where  did  you  learn  to  cook, 
Alida  ?"  he  asked. 

"Mother  wasn't  very  strong  and  her  appetite  often  failed 
her.  Then,  too,  we  hadn't  much  to  spend  on  our  table,  so 
we  tried  to  make  simple  things  taste  nice.  Do  you  like  my 
way  of  preparing  that  old-fashioned  dish  ?" 


GETTING    ACQUAINTED  195 

"I'm  going  to  show  you  how  I  like  it,"  he  replied,  nod- 
ding approvingly.  "Well,  what  have  you  been  doing  besides 
tempting  me  to  eat  too  much  ?" 

"What  you  said,  resting.  You  told  me  not  to  get  up 
much  of  a  dinner,  so  I  very  lazily  prepared  what  you  see. 
I've  been  lying  on  the  lounge  most  of  the  morning.' 

"Famous ;  and  you  feel  better  ?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  shall  soon  get  well  and  strong,"  she 
replied,  looking  at  him  gratefully. 

"Well,  well,  my  luck's  turned  at  last.  I  once  thought  it 
never  would,  but  if  this  goes  on — well,. you  can't  know  what 
a  change  it  is  for  the  better.  I  can  now  put  my  mind  on 
my  work." 

"You've  been  plowing  all  the  morning,  haven't  you?" 
she  ventured,  and  there  was  the  pleased  look  in  her  eyes  that 
he  already  liked  to  see. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  "and  I  must  keep  at  it  several  days  to 
get  in  all  the  oats  I  mean  to  sow.  If  this  weather  holds  I 
shall  be  through  next  week." 

"I  looked  in  the  milk-room  a  while  ago.  Isn't  there  any- 
thing I  could  do  there  this  afternoon  ?" 

"No.  I'll  attend  to  everything  there.  It's  too  damp  for 
you  yet.  Keep  on  resting.  Why,  bless  me!  I  didn't  think 
you'd  be  well  enough  to  do  anything  for  a  week." 

"Indeed,"  she  admitted,  "I'm  surprised  at  myself.  It 
seems  as  if  a  crushing  weight  had  been  lifted  off  my  mind 
and  that  I  was  coming  right  up.  I'm  so  glad,  for  I  feared 
I  might  be  feeble  and  useless  a  long  time." 

"Well,  Alida,  if  you  had  been,  or  if  you  ever  are,  don't 
think  I'll  be  impatient.  The  people  I  can't  stand  are  those 
who  try  to  take  advantage  of  me,  and  I  tell  you  I've  had  to 
contend  with  that  disposition  so  long  that  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
do  almost  anything  for  one  who  is  simply  honest  and  tries 
to  keep  her  part  of  an  agreement.  But  this  won't  do.  I've 
enjoyed  my  own  dinner  so  much  that  I've  half  forgotten  that 
the  horses  haven't  had  theirs  yet.  Now  will  you  scold  if  I 
light  my  pipe  before  I  go  out  ?" 


196  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  mind  that." 

"IsTo  good-natured  fibs.     Isn't  smoke  disagreeable?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  mind  it  at  all,"  she  said, 
but  her  sudden  paleness  puzzled  him.  He  could  not  know 
that  he  had  involuntarily  recalled  the  many  times  that  she 
had  filled  the  evening  pipe  for  a  man  who  now  haunted  her 
memory  like  a  spectre. 

"I  guess  you  don't  like  it  very  much,"  he  said,  as  he 
passed  out.  "Well,  no  matter.  It's  getting  so  mild  that  I 
can  smoke  out-of-doors." 

With  the  exception  of  the  episode  of  dinner,  the  day  was 
chiefly  passed  by  Alida  in  a  health-restoring  languor,  the 
natural  reaction  from  the  distress  and  strong  excitements  of 
the  past.  The  rest  that  had  been  enjoined  upon  her  was  a 
blessed  privilege,  and  still  more  happy  was  the  truth  that  she 
could  rest.  Reclining  on  the  lounge  in  the  parlor,  with  a 
wood  fire  on  one  side  and  the  April  sun  on  the  other,  both 
creating  warmth  and  good  cheer,  she  felt  like  those  who 
have  just  escaped  from  a  wreck  and  ingulfing  waves.  Her 
mind  was  too  weary  to  question  either  the  past  or  the  future, 
and  sometimes  a  consciousness  of  safety  is  happiness  in  it- 
self. In  the  afternoon,  the  crackling  of  the  fire  and  the 
calling  and  singing  of  the  birds  without  formed  a  soothing 
lullaby  and  she  fell  asleep. 

At  last,  in  a  dream,  she  heard  exquisite  music  which  ap- 
peared to  grow  so  loud,  strong  and  triumphant  that  she 
started  up  and  looked  around  bewildered.  A  moment  later, 
she  saw  that  a  robin  was  singing  in  a  lilac  bush  by  the  win- 
dow and  that  near  the  bird  was  a  nest  partially  constructed. 
She  recalled  her  hopeless  grief  when  she  had  last  seen  the 
building  of  one  of  their  little  homes;  and  she  fell  upon  her 
knees  with  a  gratitude  too  deep  for  words,  and  far  more 
grateful  to  Heaven  than  words. 

Stepping  out  on  the  porch,  she  saw  by  the  shadows  that 
the  sun  was  low  in  the  west  and  that  Holcroft  was  coming 
down  the  lane  with  his  horses.  He  nodded  pleasantly  as  he 
passed  on  to  the  barn.  Her  eyes  followed  him  lingeringly 


GETTING   ACQUAINTED  197 

till  he  disappeared,  and  then  they  ranged  over  the  wide  val- 
ley and  the  wooded  hills  in  the  distance.  Not  a  breath  of 
air  was  stirring ;  the  lowing  of  cattle  and  other  rural  sounds, 
softened  by  distance,  came  from  other  farmhouses ;  the  birds 
were  at  vespers,  and  their  songs,  to  her  fancy,  were  imbued 
with  a  softer,  sweeter  melody  than  in  the  morning.  From 
the  adjacent  fields  came  clear,  mellow  notes  that  made  her 
nerves  tingle,  so  ethereal  yet  penetrating  were  they.  She 
was  sure  she  had  never  heard  such  bird  music  before.  When 
Holcroft  came  in  to  supper  she  asked,  "What  birds  are  those 
that  sing  in  the  field  ?" 

"Meadow  larks.     Do  you  like  them?" 
•'"I  never  heard  a  hymn  sung  that  did  me  more  good." 

"Well,  I  own  up,  I'd  rather  hear  'em  than  much  of  the 
singing  we  used  to  have  down  at  the  meeting-house." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  remarked,  as  she  sat  down  at  the 
table,  "that  I've  never  heard  birds  sing  as  they  have  to- 
day." 

"Now  I  think  of  it,  they  have  been  tuning  up  wonder- 
fully. Perhaps  they've  an  idea  of  my  good  luck,"  he  added, 
smilingly. 

"I  had  thought  of  that  about  myself,"  she  ventured.  "I 
took  a  nap  this  afternoon,  and  a  robin  sang  so  near  the  win- 
dow that  he  woke  me  up.  It  was  a  pleasant  way  to  be 
waked." 

"Took  a  nap,  did  you  ?  That's  famous.  Well,  well,  this 
day's  gone  just  to  suit  me,  and  I  haven't  had  many  such  in 
a  good  while,  I  can  tell  you.  I've  got  in  a  big  strip  of  oats, 
and  now,  when  I  come  in  tired,  here's  a  good  supper.  I 
certainly  shall  have  to  be  on  the  watch  to  do  Tom  Watterly 
good  turns  for  talking  me  into  this  business.  That  taking 
a  nap  was  a  first-rate  idea.  You  ought  to  keep  it  up  for  a 
month." 

"No,  indeed.  There's  no  reason  why  you  should  work 
hard  and  I  be  idle.  I've  rested  to-day,  as  you  wished,  and 
I  feel  better  than  I  ever  expected  to  again;  but  to-morrow 
I  must  begin  in  earnest.  What  use  is  there  of  your  keeping 


198  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

your  cows,  if  good  butter  is  not  made  ?  Then  I  must  be 
busy  with  my  needle." 

"Yes,  that's  true  enough.  See  how  thoughtless  I  am.  I 
forgot  you  hadn't  any  clothes  to  speak  of.  I  ought  to  take 
you  to  town  to  a  dressmaker." 

"I  think  you  had  better  get  your  oats  in,"  she  replied, 
smiling  shyly.  "Besides,  I  have  a  dressmaker  that  just  suits 
me — one  that's  made  my  dresses  a  good  many  years." 

"If  she  don't  suit  you,  you're  hard  to  be  suited,"  said  he, 
laughing.  "Well,  some  day,  after  you  are  fixed  up,  I  shall 
have  to  let  you  know  how  dilapidated  I  am." 

"Won't  you  do  me  a  little  favor  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  a  dozen  of  'em,  big  or  little." 

"Please  bring  down  this  evening  something  that  needs 
mending.  I  am  so  much  better — " 

"No,  no,  I  wasn't  hinting  for  you  to  do  anything  to- 
night." 

"But  you've  promised  me,"  she  urged.  "Remember, 
I've  been  resting  nearly  all  day.  I'm  used  to  sewing,  and 
earned  my  living  at  it.  Somehow,  it  don't  seem  natural  for 
me  to  sit  with  idle  hands." 

"If  I  hadn't  promised—" 

"But  you  have." 

"I  suppose  I'm  fairly  caught,"  and  he  brought  down  a 
little  of  the  most  pressing  of  the  mending. 

"Now  I'll  reward  you,"  she  said,  handing  him  his  pipe, 
well  filled.  "You  go  in  the  parlor  and  have  a  quiet  smoke. 
I  won't  be  long  in  clearing  up  the  kitchen." 

"What !  smoke  in  the  parlor  ?" 

"Yes,  why  not  ?     I  assure  I  don't  mind  it." 

"Ha!  ha!  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it  before?  I  might 
have  kept  the  parlor  and  smoked  Mrs.  Mumpson  out." 

"It  won't  be  smoke  that  will  keep  me  out." 

"  I  should  hope  not,  or  anything  else.  I  must  tell  you  how 
I  did  have  to  smoke  Mrs.  Mumpson  out  at  last,"  and  he  did 
so  with  so  much  drollery  that  she  again  yielded  to  irrepressi- 
ble laughter. 


GETTING   ACQUAINTED  199 

"Poor  thing !  I'm  sorry  for  her,"  she  said. 

"I'm  sorry  for  Jane — poor  little  stray  cat  of  a  child !  I 
hope  we  can  do  something  for  her  some  day,"  and  having 
lighted  his  pipe,  he  took  up  the  county  paper,  left  weekly  in 
a  hollow  tree  by  the  stage-driver,  and  went  into  the  parlor. 

After  refreshing  up  the  fire,  he  sat  down  to  read,  but  by 
the  time  she  joined  him,  the  tired  man  was  nodding.  He 
tried  to  brighten  up,  but  his  eyes  were  heavy. 

"You've  worked  hard  to-day,"  she  said,  sympathetically. 

"Well,  I  have,"  he  answered,  "I've  not  done  such  a  good 
day's  work  in  a  year." 

"Then  why  don't  you  go  to  sleep  at  once  ?" 

"It  don't  seem  polite — " 

"Please  don't  talk  that  way,"  she  interrupted.  "I  don't 
mind  being  alone  at  all.  I  shall  feel  a  great  deal  more  at 
home  if  you  forget  all  about  ceremony." 

"Well,  Alida,  I  guess  we  had  both  better  begin  on  that 
basis.  If  I  give  up  when  I'm  tired,  you  must.  You  mustn't 
think  I'm  always  such  a  sleepyhead.  The  fact  is  I've  been 
more  tired  out  with  worry  of  late  than  with  work  I  can 
laugh  about  it  now,  but  I've  been  so  desperate  over  it  that 
I've  felt  more  like  swearing.  You'll  find  out  I've  become 
a  good  deal  of  a  heathen." 

"Very  well,  I'll  wait  till  I  find  out." 

"I  think  we  are  getting  acquainted  famously,  don't  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  with  a  smile  that  meant  more  than  a 
long  speech.  "Good-night." 


200  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

BETWEEN    THE    PAST    AND    FUTURE 

HITMAN  nature,  in  common  with  Mother  Nature,  has 
its  immutable  laws.  The  people  who  existed  before 
the  flood  were,  in  their  primal  motives,  like  those 
of  to-day.  The  conventionality  of  highly  civilized  society 
does  not  change  the  heart,  but  it  puts  so  much  restraint  upon 
it  that  not  a  few  appear  heartless.  They  march  through  life 
and  fight  its  battles  like  uniformed  men,  trained  in  a  certain 
school  of  tactics.  This  monotony  of  character  and  action  is 
superficial  in  most  cases,  rather  than  real,  and  he  who 
fathoms  the  eyes  of  others,  who  catches  the  subtile  quality 
of  tones  and  interprets  the  flexible  mouth  that  utters  them, 
will  discover  that  the  whole  gamut  of  human  nature  exists 
in  those  that  appear  only  like  certain  musical  instruments, 
made  by  machinery  to  play  a  few  well-known  tunes.  Con- 
ventional restraint  often,  no  doubt,  produces  dwarfed  and 
defective  human  nature.  I  suppose  that  if  souls  could  be 
put  under  a  microscope,  the  undeveloped  rudiments  of  al- 
most everything  would  be  discovered.  It  is  more  satisfac- 
tory to  study  things  themselves  than  their  suggestions; 
this  we  are  usually  better  able  to  do  among  people  of  simple 
and  untrammelled  modes  of  life,  who  are  not  practiced  in 
disguises.  Their  peculiar  traits  and  their  general  and  domi- 
nant laws  and  impulses  are  exhibited  with  less  reserve  than 
by  those  who  have  learned  to  be  always  on  their  guard.  Of 
course  there  are  common-place  yeomen  as  truly  as  common- 
place aristocrats,  and  simple  life  abounds  in  simpletons. 

When  a  man  in  Holcroft's  position  has  decided  traits, 


BETWEEN    THE    PAST   AND    FUTURE  201 

they  are  apt  to  have  a  somewhat  full  expression;  his  rugged 
nature  beside  a  tamer  one  outlines  itself  more  vividly,  just 
as  a  mountain-peak  is  silhouetted  against  the  horizon  better 
than  a  rounded  hill.  It  probably  has  been  observed  that 
his  character  possessed  much  simplicity  and  directness.  He 
had  neither  the  force  nor  the  ambition  to  raise  him  above 
his  circumstances ;  he  was  merely  decided  within  the  lines  of 
his  environment.  Perhaps  the  current  of  his  life  was  all 
the  stronger  for  being  narrow.  His  motives  were  neither 
complex  nor  vacillating.  He  had  married  to  keep  his  home 
and  to  continue  in  the  conditions  of  life  dear  from  associa- 
tion and  the  strongest  preference,  and  his  heart  overflowed 
with  good  will  and  kindness  toward  Alida  because  she  prom- 
ised to  solve  the  hard  problem  of  the  future  satisfactorily. 
Apart  from  the  sympathy  which  her  misfortune  had  evoked, 
he  probably  could  have  felt  much  the  same  toward  any  other 
good,  sensible  woman,  had  she  rendered  him  a  similar  service. 
It  is  true,  now  that  Alida  was  in  his  home,  that  she  was  mani- 
festing agreeable  traits  which  gave  him  pleasant  little  sur- 
prises. He  had  not  expected  that  he  would  have  had  half  so 
much  to  say  to  her,  yet  felt  it  his  duty  to  be  sociable  in  order 
to  cheer  her  up  and  mark  the  line  between  even  a  business 
marriage  and  the  employment  of  a  domestic.  Both  his  inter- 
est and  his  duty  required  that  he  should  establish  the  bonds 
of  strong  friendly  regard  on  the  basis  of  perfect  equality,  and 
he  would  have  made  efforts  similar  to  those  he  put  forth  in 
behalf  of  any  woman,  if  she  had  consented  to  marry  him  with 
Alida's  understanding.  Now,  however,  that  his  suddenly 
adopted  project  of  securing  a  housekeeper  and  helper  had 
been  consummated,  he  would  find  that  he  was  not  dealing 
with  a  business  partner  in  the  abstract,  but  a  definite  woman, 
who  had  already  begun  to  exert  over  him  her  natural  influ- 
ence. He  had  expected  more  or  less  constraint,  and  that 
some  time  must  elapse  before  his  wife  would  cease  to  be  in 
a  sense  company  whom  he,  with  conscious  and  deliberate 
effort,  must  entertain.  On  the  contrary,  she  entertained  and 
interested  him,  although  she  said  so  little,  and  by  some  sub- 


202  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

tile  power  she  unloosed  his  tongue  and  made  it  easy  for  him 
to  talk  to  her.  In  the  most  quiet  and  unobtrusive  way,  she 
was  not  only  making  herself  at  home,  but  him  also ;  she  was 
very  subservient  to  his  wishes,  but  not  servilely  so;  she  did 
not  assert,  but  only  revealed  her  superiority,  and  after  even 
so  brief  an  acquaintance  he  was  ready  to  indorse  Tom  Wat- 
terly's  view,  "She's  out  of  the  common  run." 

While  all  this  was  true,  the  farmer's  heart  was  as  un- 
touched as  that  of  a  child  who  simply  and  instinctively  likes 
a  person.  He  was  still  quietly  and  unhesitatingly  loyal  to 
his  former  wife.  Apart  from  his  involuntary  favor,  his 
shrewd,  practical  reason  was  definite  enough  in  its  grounds  of 
approval.  Reason  assured  him  that  she  promised  to  do  and 
to  be  just  what  he  had  married  her  for,  but  this  might  have 
been  true  of  a  capable  yet  disagreeable  woman  whom  he 
could  not  like  to  save  himself. 

Both  in  regard  to  himself  and  Alida,  Holcroft  accepted 
the  actual  facts  with  the  gladness  and  much  of  the  unques- 
tioning simplicity  of  a  child.  This  rather  risky  experiment 
was  turning  out  well,  and  for  a  time  he  daily  became  more 
and  more  absorbed  in  his  farm  and  its  interests.  Alida 
quietly  performed  her  household  tasks  and  proved  that  she 
would  not  need  very  much  instruction  to  become  a  good 
butter-maker.  The  short  spring  of  the  North  required  that 
he  should  be  busy  early  and  late  to  keep  pace  with  the 
quickly  passing  seed-time.  His  hopefulness,  his  freedom 
from  household  worries,  prompted  him  to  sow  and  plant  in- 
creased areas  of  land.  In  brief,  he  entered  on  just  the  busi- 
ness-like honeymoon  he  had  hoped  for. 

Alida  was  more  than  content  with  the  conditions  of  her 
life.  She  saw  that  Holcroft  was  not  only  satisfied,  but  also 
pleased  with  her,  and  that  was  all  she  had  expected,  and  in- 
deed all  that  thus  far  she  had  wished  or  hoped.  She  had 
many  sad  hours;  wounds  like  hers  cannot  heal  readily  in 
a  true,  sensitive  woman's  heart.  While  she  gained  in  cheer- 
fulness and  confidence,  the  terrible  and  unexpected  disaster 
which  had  overtaken  her  rendered  impossible  the  serenity 


BETWEEN    THE  PAST  AND   FUTURE  203 

of  those  with  whom  all  has  gone  well.  Dread  of  something, 
she  knew  not  what,  haunted  her  painfully,  and  memory  at 
times  seemed  malignantly  perverse  in  recalling  one  whom 
she  prayed  to  forget. 

Next  to  her  faith  and  Holcroft's  kindness,  her  work  was 
her  best  solace,  and  she  thanked  God  for  the  strength  to 
keep  busy. 

On  the  first  Sunday  morning  after  their  marriage  the 
farmer  overslept  and  breakfast  had  been  ready  some  time 
when  he  came  down.  He  looked  with  a  little  dismay  at  the 
clock  over  the  kitchen  mantel  and  asked,  "Aren't  you  going 
to  scold  a  little  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  nor  did  she  look  the  chiding  which 
often  might  as  well  be  spoken. 

"How  long  have  I  kept  breakfast  waiting,  or  you  rather  ?" 

"What  difference  does  it  make  ?  You  needed  the  rest. 
The  breakfast  may  not  be  so  nice,"  was  her  smiling  answer. 

"No  matter.  You  are  nice  to  let  a  man  off  in  that  way." 
Observing  the  book  in  her  lap  he  continued,  "So  you  were 
reading  the  old  family  Bible  to  learn  lessons  of  patience  and 
forbearance  ?" 

Again  she  shook  her  head.  She  often  oddly  reminded 
him  of  Jane  in  her  employment  of  signs  instead  of  speech, 
but  in  her  case  there  was  a  grace,  a  suggestiveness  and  even 
a  piquancy  about  them  which  made  them  like  a  new  language. 
He  understood  and  interpreted  her  frankly.  "I  know,  Alida," 
he  said,  kindly,  "you  are  a  good  woman.  You  believe  in 
the  Bible  and  love  to  read  it." 

"I  was  taught  to  read  and  love  it,"  she  replied,  simply. 
Then  her  eyes  dropped  and  she  faltered,  "I've  reproached 
myself  bitterly  that  I  rushed  away  so  hastily  that  I  forgot 
the  Bible  my  mother  gave  me." 

"No,  no,"  he  said,  heartily,  "don't  reproach  yourself  for 
that.  It  was  the  Bible  in  your  heart  that  made  you  act  as 
you  did." 

She  shot  him  a  swift,  grateful  glance  through  her  tears, 
but  made  no  other  response. 


HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

Having  returned  the  Bible  to  the  parlor,  she  put  the 
breakfast  on  the  table  and  said,  quietly,  "It  looks  as  if  we 
would  have  a  rainy  day." 

"Well,"  said  he,  laughing,  "I'm  as  bad  as  the  old  woman 
— it  seems  that  women  can  run  farms  alone  if  men  can't. 
Well,  this  old  dame  had  a  big  farm  and  employed  several 
men,  and  she  was  always  wishing  it  would  rain  nights  and 
Sundays.  I'm  inclined  to  chuckle  over  the  good  this  rain 
will  do  my  oats,  instead  of  being  sorry  to  think  how  many 
sinners  it'll  keep  from  church.  Except  in  protracted-meet- 
ing times,  most  people  of  this  town  would  a  great  deal  rather 
risk  their  souls  than  be  caught  in  the  rain  on  Sunday.  We 
don't  mind  it  much  week-days,  but  Sunday  rain  is  very 
dangerous  to  health." 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  as  bad  as  the  rest,"  she  said,  smiling. 
Mother  and  I  usually  stayed  home  when  it  rained  hard." 

"Oh,  we  don't  need  a  hard  storm  in  the  country.  People 
say,  'It  looks  threatening,'  and  that  settles  it;  but  we  often 
drive  to  town  rainy  days  to  save  time." 

"Do  you  usually  go  to  church  at  the  meeting-house  I  see 
off  in  the  valley  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  go  anywhere,"  and  he  watched  keenly  to  see 
how  she  would  take  this  blunt  statement  of  his  practical 
heathenism. 

She  only  looked  at  him  kindly  and  accepted  the  fact. 

"Why  don't  you  pitch  into  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"That  wouldn't  do  any  good." 

"You'd  like  to  go,  I  suppose  ?" 

"No,  not  under  the  circumstances,  unless  you  wished  to. 
I'm  cowardly  enough  to  dread  being  stared  at." 

He  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  "This  thing  has  been 
troubling  me,"  he  said.  "I  feared  you  would  want  to  go, 
and  if  you  did,  I  should  feel  that  you  ought  to  go." 

"I  fear  I'm  very  weak  about  it,  but  I  shrink  so  from 
meeting  strangers.  I  do  thank  God  for  his  goodness  many 
times  a  day  and  ask  for  help.  I'm  not  brave  enough  to  do 
any  more,  yet." 


BETWEER    THE   PAST   AND   FUTURE  205 

His  rugged  features  became  very  sombre  as  he  said,  "I 
wish  I  had  as  much  courage  as  you  have." 

"You  don't  understand  me,"  she  began,  gently. 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  It's  all  become  a  muddle  to  me.  I 
mean  this  church  and  religious  business." 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully,  as  if  she  wished  to  say  some- 
thing, but  did  not  venture  to  do  so.  He  promptly  gave  a 
different  turn  to  the  conversation  by  quoting  Mrs.  Mump- 
son's  tirade  on  churchgoing  the  first  Sunday  after  her  ar- 
rival. Alida  laughed,  but  not  in  a  wholly  mirthful  and  sat- 
isfied way.  "There,"  he  concluded,  "I'm  touching  on  things 
a  little  too  sacred  for  you.  I  respect  your  feelings  and  be- 
liefs, for  they  are  honest  and  I  wish  I  shared  in  'em."  Then 
he  suddenly  laughed  again  as  he  added,  "Mrs.  Mumpson  said 
there  was  too  much  milking  done  on  Sunday,  and  it's  time 
I  was  breaking  the  Fourth  Commandment,  after  her  notion." 

Alida  now  laughed  outright,  without  reservation. 

"  'By  jocks !'  as  Watterly  says,  wha.t  a  difference  there  is 
in  women !"  he  soliloquized  on  his  way  to  the  barn.  "Well, 
the  church  question  is  settled  for  the  present,  but  if  Alida 
should  ask  me  to  go,  after  her  manner  this  morning,  I'd  face 
the  whole  creation  with  her." 

When  at  last  he  came  in  and  threw  off  his  water-proof 
coat,  the  kitchen  was  in  order,  and  his  wife  was  sitting  by 
the  parlor  fire  with  Thomson's  "Land  and  the  Book"  in  her 
hand. 

"Are  you  fond  of  reading  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  very." 

"Well,  I  am,  too,  sort  of;  but  I've  let  the  years  slip  by 
without  doing  half  as  much  as  I  ought." 

"Light  your  pipe  and  I'll  read  to  you  if  you  wish  me  to." 

"Oh,  come,  now.  I  at  least  believe  in  Sunday  as  a  day 
of  rest  and  you  need  it.  Reading  aloud  is  about  as  hard 
work  as  I  can  do." 

"But  I'm  used  to  it.  I  read  aloud  to  mother  a  great 
deal,"  and  then  there  passed  over  her  face  an  expression  of 
deep  pain. 


206  HE    FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"What  is  it,  Alida  ?     Don't  you  feel  well  ?" 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  she  replied,  hastily,  and  her  pale  face 
became  crimson. 

It  was  another  stab  of  memory  recalling  the  many  Sun- 
days she  had  read  to  the  man  who  had  deceived  her.  "Shall 
I  read  ?"  she  asked. 

"Alida,"  he  said,  very  kindly,  "it  wasn't  the  thought  of 
your  mother  that  brought  that  look  of  pain  into  your  face." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly,  with  downcast  eyes.  After  a 
moment  or  two,  she  raised  them  appealingly  to  him  as  she 
said  simply,  "There  is  so  much  that  I  wish  I  could  forget." 

"Poor  child!  Yes,  I  think  I  know.  Be  patient  with 
yourself,  and  remember  that  you  were  never  to  blame." 

Again  came  that  quick,  grateful  glance  by  which  some 
women  express  more  than  others  can  ever  put  in  words.  Her 
thought  was,  "I  didn't  think  that  even  he  was  capable  of 
that.  What  a  way  of  assuring  me  that  he'll  be  patient  with 
me !"  Then  she  quietjy  read  for  an  hour  descriptions  of  the 
Holy  Land  that  were  not  too  religious  for  Holcroft's  mind 
and  which  satisfied  her  conscience  better  than  much  she  had 
read  in  former  days  to  satisfy  a  taste  more  alien  to  hers  than 
that  of  her  husband. 

Holcroft  listened  to  her  correct  pronunciation  and  sweet, 
natural  tones  with  a  sort  of  pleased  wonder.  At  last  he  said, 
"You  must  stop  now." 

"Are  you  tired  ?"  she  asked. 

"JSTo,  but  you  are,  or  ought  to  be.  Why,  Alida,  I  didn't 
know  you  were  so  well  educated.  I'm  quite  a  barbarous  old 
fellow  compared  with  you." 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  that  before,"  she  said,  with  a  laugh. 

"What  a  fool  I  was,  then,  to  put  it  into  your  head !" 

"You  must  be  more  careful.  I'd  never  have  such 
thoughts  if  you  didn't  suggest  them." 

"How  did  you  come  to  get  such  a  good  education  ?" 

"I  wish  I  had  a  better  one.  Well,  I  did  have  good  ad- 
vantages up  to  the  time  I  was  seventeen.  After  I  was  old 
enough  I  went  to  school  quite  steadily,  but  it  seems  to  me 


BETWEEN   THE   PAST  AND   FUTURE  207 

that  I  learned  a  little  of  everything  and  not  much  of  any- 
thing. When  father  died  and  we  lost  our  property,  we  had 
to  take  to  our  needles.  I  suppose  I  might  have  obtained  work 
in  a  store,  or  some  such  place,  but  I  couldn't  bear  to  leave 
mother  alone  and  I  disliked  being  in  public.  I  certainly 
didn't  know  enough  to  teach,  and  besides,  I  was  afraid 
to  try." 

"Well,  well,  you've  stumbled  into  a  quiet  enough  place  at 
last." 

"That's  what  I  like  most  about  it,  but  I  don't  think  I 
stumbled  into  it.  I  think  I've  been  led  and  helped.  That's 
what  I  meant  when  I  said  you  didn't  understand  me,"  she 
added,  hesitatingly.  "It  don't  take  courage  for  me  to  go 
to  God.  I  get  courage  by  believing  that  He  cares  for  me  like 
a  father,  as  the  Bible  says.  How  could  I  ever  have  found, 
so  kind  a  friend  and  good  a  home  myself?" 

"I've  been  half  inclined  to  believe  there's  a  Providence 
in  it  myself — more  and  more  so  as  I  get  acquainted  with 
you.  Your  troubles  have  made  you  better,  Alida ;  mine  made 
me  worse.  I  used  to  be  a  Christian ;  I  ain't  any  more." 

She  looked  at  him  smilingly  as  she  asked,  "How  do  you 
know?" 

"Oh,  I  know  well  enough,"  he  replied,  gloomily.  "Don't 
let's  talk  about  it  any  more,"  and  then  he  led  her  on  to  speak 
simply  and  naturally  about  her  childhood  home  and  her 
father  and  mother. 

"Well,"  he  said,  heartily,  "I  wish  your  mother  was  living, 
for  nothing  would  please  me  better  than  to  have  such  a  good 
old  lady  in  the  house." 

She  averted  her  face  as  she  said,  huskily,  "I  think  it 
was  better  she  died  before — "  but  she  did  not  finish  the 
sentence. 

By  the  time  dinner  was  over,  the  sun  was  shining  bright- 
ly, and  he  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like  to  go  up  the  lane  to 
his  woodland  to  see  the  view.  Her  pleased  look  was  sufficient 
answer.  "But  are  you  sure  you  are  strong  enough?"  he 
persisted. 


208  HE    FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

"Yes,  it  will  do  me  good  to  go  out,  and  I  may  find  some 
wild  flowers." 

"I  guess  you  can,  a  million  or  two." 

By  the  time  he  was  through  at  the  barn  she  was  ready  and 
they  started  up  the  lane,  now  green  with  late  April  grass  and 
enlivened  with  dandelions  in  which  bumble-bees  were  wallow- 
ing. The  sun  had  dried  the  moisture  sufficiently  for  them 
to  pass  on  dry-shod,  but  everything  had  the  fresh,  vernal  as- 
pect that  follows  a  warm  rain.  Spring  had  advanced  with 
a  great  bound  since  the  day  before.  The  glazed  and  gluti- 
nous cherry  buds  had  expanded  with  aromatic  odors  and  the 
white  of  the  blossoms  was  beginning  to  show. 

"By  to-morrow,"  said  Holcroft,  "the  trees  will  look  as 
if  covered  with  snow.  Let  me  help  you,"  and  he  put  his  hand 
under  her  arm,  supporting  and  aiding  her  steps  up  the  steep 
places. 

Her  lips  were  parted,  the  pleased  look  was  in  her  eyes  as 
they  rested  on  trees  and  shrubs  which  lined  the  half  ruinous 
stone  walls  on  either  side.  "Everything  seems  so  alive  and 
glad  this  afternoon,"  she  remarked. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  matter-of-fact  farmer.  "A  rain  such 
as  we  had  this  morning  is  like  turning  the  water  on  a  big 
mill-wheel.  It  starts  all  the  machinery  right  up.  Now  the 
sun's  out,  and  that's  the  greatest  motor  power  of  all.  Sun 
and  moisture  make  the  farm  go." 

"Mustn't  the  ground  be  enriched,  too  ?" 

"Yes,  yes  indeed;  I  suppose  that's  where  we  all  fail. 
But  it's  no  easy  matter  to  keep  a  farm  in  good  heart.  That's 
another  reason  why  I'm  so  glad  I  won't  have  to  sell  my  stock. 
A  farm  run  without  stock  is  sure  to  grow  poor;  and  if  the 
farm  grows  poor,  the  owner  does  as  a  matter  of  course.  But 
what  put  enriching  the  ground  into  your  head?  Do  you 
know  anything  about  farming  ?" 

"No,  but  I  want  to  learn.  When  I  was  a  girl,  father  had 
a  garden.  He  used  to  take  papers  about  it,  and  I  often  read 
them  aloud  to  him  evenings.  Now  I  remember  there  used 


BETWEEN   THE   PAST  AND   FUTURE  209 

to  be  much  in  them  about  enriching  the  ground.  Do  you  take 
any  such  paper  ?" 

"]STo.     I  haven't  much  faith  in  book-farming." 

"I  don't  know,"  she  ventured.  "Seems  to  me  you  might 
get  some  good  ideas  out  of  papers,  and  your  experience 
would  teach  you  whether  they  were  useful  ideas  or  not.  If 
you'll  take  one,  I'll  read  it  to  you." 

"I  will,  then,  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you  read,  if 
nothing  else.  That's  something  I  hadn't  bargained  for,"  he 
added,  laughing. 

She  answered  in  the  same  spirit  by  saying,  "I'll  throw 
that  in  and  not  call  it  square  yet." 

"I  think  I've  got  the  best  of  you,"  he  chuckled;  "and 
you  know  nothing  makes  a  Yankee  farmer  happier  than  to 
get  the  best  of  a  bargain." 

"I  hope  you'll  continue  to  think  so.  Can  I  sit  down  a 
few  moments  ?" 

"Why,  certainly.  How  forgetful  I  am !  Your  talk  is  too 
interesting  for  me  to  think  of  anything  else,"  and  he  placed 
her  on  a  flat  rock  by  the  side  of  the  lane,  while  he  leaned 
against  the  wall. 

Bees  and  other  insects  were  humming  around  them;  a 
butterfly  fluttered  over  the  fence  and  alighted  on  a  dandelion 
almost  at  her  feet ;  meadow  larks  were  whistling  their  limpid 
notes  in  the  adjoining  fields,  while  from  the  trees  about  the 
house  beneath  them  came  the  songs  of  many  birds,  blending 
with  the  babble  of  the  brook  which  ran  not  far  away. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful,  how  strangely  beautiful  it  all  is !" 

"Yes,  when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  it  is  real  pretty,"  he 
replied.  "It's  a  pity  we  get  so  used  to  such  things  that  we 
don't  notice  'em  much.  I  should  feel  miserable  enough, 
though,  if  I  couldn't  live  in  just  such  a  place.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  was  a  good  deal  like  that  robin  yonder.  I  like 
to  be  free  and  enjoy  the  spring  weather,  but  I  suppose  neither 
he  nor  I  think  or  know  how  fine  it  all  is." 

"Well,  both  you  and  the  robin  seem  a  part  of  it,"  she  said, 
laughing. 


210  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"Oh,  no,  no,"  he  replied  with  a  guffaw  which  sent  the 
robin  off  in  alarm,  "I  ain't  beautiful  and  never  was." 

She  joined  his  laugh,  but  said  with  a  positive  little  nod, 
"I'm  right,  though.  The  robin  isn't  a  pretty  bird,  yet  every- 
body likes  him." 

"Except  in  cherry  time.  Then  he  has  an  appetite  equal 
to  mine.  But  everybody  don't  like  me.  In  fact,  I  think  I'm 
generally  disliked  in  this  town." 

"If  you  went  among  them  more  they  wouldn't  dislike 
you." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  among  them." 

"They  know  it,  and  that's  the  reason  they  dislike  you." 

"Would  you  like  to  go  out  to  tea-drinkings,  and  all  that  ?" 

"No  indeed;  and  I  don't  suppose  I'd  be  received,"  she 
added,  sadly. 

"So  much  the  worse  for  them,  then,  blast  'em,"  said  Hoi- 
croft,  wrathfully. 

"Oh  no,  I  don't  feel  that  way  and  you  shouldn't.  When 
they  can  people  ought  to  be  sociable  and  kind." 

"Of  course  I'd  do  any  of  my  neighbors,  except  Lemuel 
Weeks,  a  good  turn  if  it  came  in  my  way,  but  the  less  I  have 
to  do  with  them  the  better  I'm  satisfied." 

"I'm  rested  enough  to  go  on  now,"  said  Alida,  quietly. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  edge  of  the  woodland, 
from  which  there  was  an  extended  prospect.  For  some  little 
time  they  looked  at  the  wide  landscape  in  silence.  Alida 
gave  to  it  only  partial  attention,  for  her  mind  was  very  busy 
with  thoughts  suggested  by  her  husband's  alienation  from  his 
neighbors.  It  would  make  it  easier  for  her,  but  the  troubled 
query  would  arise,  "Is  it  right  or  best  for  him  ?  His  marry- 
ing me  will  separate  him  still  more." 

Holcroft's  face  grew  sad  rather  than  troubled  as  he  looked 
at  the  old  meeting-house  and  not  at  the  landscape.  He  was 
sitting  near  the  spot  where  he  spent  that  long  forenoon  a  few 
Sundays  before,  and  the  train  of  thought  came  back  again. 
In  his  deep  abstraction,  he  almost  forgot  the  woman  near  him 


BETWEEN   THE   PAST   AND   FUTURE  211 

in  memories  of  the  past.  His  old  love  and  lost  faith  were 
inseparable  from  that  little  white  spire  in  the  distance. 

Alida  stole  a  glance  at  him  and  thought,  "He's  thinking 
}f  her,"  and  she  quietly  strolled  away  to  look  for  wild  flowers. 

"Yes,"  muttered  Holcroft,  at  last,  "I  hope  Bessie  knows. 
She'd  be  the  first  one  to  say  it  was  right  and  best  for  me, 
md  she'd  be  glad  to  know  that  in  securing  my  own  home 
ind  comfort  I  had  given  a  home  to  the  homeless  and  sorrow- 
ful— a  quiet,  good  woman,  who  worships  God  as  she  did." 

He  rose  and  joined  his  wife,  who  held  toward  him  a 
landful  of  trailing  arbutus,  rue,  anemones,  bloodroot  and 
licentras.  "I  didn't  know  they  were  so  pretty  before,"  he 
laid  with  a  smile. 

His  smile  reassured  her,  for  it  seemed  kinder  than  any  she 
lad  yet  received,  and  his  tone  was  very  gentle.  "His  dead 
vife  will  never  be  my  enemy,"  she  murmured.  "He  ha» 
nade  it  right  with  her  in  his  own  thoughts." 


212  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

GIVEN     HEE     OWN     WAT 

ON"  Monday  the  absorbing  work  of  the  farm  was  re- 
newed, and  every  day  brought  to  Holcroft  long  and 
exhausting  hours  of  labor.  While  he  was  often 
taciturn,  he  evidently  progressed  in  cheerfulness  and  hope. 
Alida  confirmed  his  good  impressions.  His  meals  were 
prompt  and  inviting;  the  house  was  taking  on  an  aspect  of 
neatness  and  order  long  absent,  and  his  wardrobe  was  put 
in  as  good  condition  as  its  rather  meagre  character  permitted. 
He  had  positively  refused  to  permit  his  wife  to  do  any  wash- 
ing and  ironing.  "We  will  see  about  it  next  fall,"  he  said. 
"If  then  you  are  perfectly  well  and  strong,  perhaps,  but  not 
in  the  warm  weather  now  coming  on."  Then  he  added,  with 
a  little  nod,  "I'm  finding  out  how  valuable  you  are,  and  I'd 
rather  save  you  than  the  small  sum  I  have  to  pay  old  Mrs. 
Johnson." 

In  this  and  in  other  ways  he  showed  kindly  consideration, 
but  his  mind  continually  reverted  to  his  work  and  outdoor 
plans  with  the  preoccupation  of  one  who  finds  that  he  can 
again  give  his  thoughts  to  something  from  which  they  had 
been  most  reluctantly  withdrawn.  Thus  Alida  was  left  alone 
most  of  the  time.  When  the  dusk  of  evening  came,  he  was 
too  tired  to  say  much  and  he  retired  early  that  he  might  be 
fresh  for  work  again  when  the  sun  appeared.  She  had  no 
regrets,  for  although  she  kept  busy,  she  was  resting  and  her 
wounds  were  healing  through  the  long,  quiet  days.  It  was 
the  essential  calm  after  the  storm.  Caring  for  the  dairy  and 
working  the  butter  into  firm,  sweet,  tempting  yellow  rolls 


GIVEN  HER    OWN    WAY  213 

were  the  only  tasks  that  troubled  her  a  little,  but  Holcroft 
assured  her  that  she  was  learning  these  important  duties 
faster  than  he  had  expected  her  to.  She  had  several  hours 
a  day  in  which  to  ply  her  needle  and  thus  was  soon  enabled 
to  replenish  her  scanty  wardrobe. 

One  morning  at  breakfast,  she  appeared  in  another  gown, 
and  although  its  material  was  calico,  she  had  the  appearance 
to  Holcroft  of  being  unusually  well  dressed.  He  looked 
pleased,  but  made  no  comment.  When  the  cherry  blossoms 
were  fully  out,  an  old  cracked  flower  vase — the  only  one  in 
the  house — was  filled  with  them,  and  they  were  placed  in  the 
centre  of  the  dinner  table.  He  looked  at  them  and  her, 
then  smilingly  remarked,  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  enjoyed 
those  cherry  blows  more  than  anything  else  we  have  for 
dinner." 

"I  want  something  else,  though.  My  appetite  almost 
frightens  me." 

"That's  famous.     I  needn't  be  ashamed  of  mine,  then." 

One  evening,  before  the  week  was  over,  he  saw  Her  busy 
with  a  rake  about  the  door.  Last  year's  leaves  were  still 
scattered  about,  with  twigs  and  even  small  boughs  wrested 
by  the  winds  from  the  trees.  He  was  provoked  with  him- 
self that  he  had  neglected  the  usual  spring  clearing  away  of 
litter  and  a  little  irritated  that  she  should  have  tried  to  do 
the  work  herself.  He  left  the  horses  at  the  barn  and  came 
forward  directly.  "Alida,"  he  said,  gravely,  "there's  no 
need  of  your  doing  such  work;  I  don't  like  to  see  you  do  it." 

"Why,"  she  replied,  "I've  heard  that  women  in  the  coun- 
try ofter  milk  and  take  care  of  the  chickens." 

"Yes,  but  that's  very  different  from  this  work.  I  wouldn't 
like  people  to  think  I  expected  such  things  of  you." 

"It's  very  easy  work,"  she  said,  smilingly,  "easier  than 
sweeping  a  room,  though  something  like  it.  I  used  to  do  it 
at  home  when  I  was  a  girl.  I  think  it  does  me  good  to  do 
something  in  the  open  air." 

She  was  persisting,  but  not  in  a  way  that  chafed  him. 
Indeed,  as  he  looked  into  her  appealing  eyes  and  face  flushed 


214  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

with  exercise,  he  felt  that  it  would  be  churlish  to  say  another 
word. 

"Well,"  he  said,  laughing,  "it  makes  you  look  so  young 
and  rosy  I  guess  it  does  do  you  good.  I  suppose  you'll  have 
to  have  your  own  way." 

"You  know  I  wouldn't  do  this  or  anything  else  if  you 
really  didn't  want  me  to." 

"You  are  keen,"  he  replied,  with  his  good-nature  en- 
tirely restored.  "You  can  see  that  you  get  me  right  under 
your  thumb  when  you  talk  that  way.  But  we  must  both  be 
on  our  guard  against  your  fault,  you  know,  or  pretty  soon 
you'll  be  taking  the  whole  work  of  the  farm  off  my  hands." 

"To  be  serious,"  she  resumed,  accompanying  him  to  the 
barn  for  the  first  time,  "I  think  you  are  working  too  hard. 
I'm  not.  Our  meals  are  so  simple  that  it  doesn't  take  me 
long  to  get  them.  I'm  through  with  the  hurry  in  my  sewing, 
the  old  dog  does  the  churning  and  you  give  me  so  much  help 
in  the  dairy  that  I  shall  soon  have  time  on  my  hands.  Now, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  might  soon  learn  to  take  entire  care  of 
the  chickens,  big  and  little,  and  that  would  be  so  much  less 
for  you  to  look  after.  I'm  sure  I  would  enjoy  it  very  much, 
especially  the  looking  after  the  little  chickens." 

"Do  you  really  think  you'd  like  to  do  that?"  he  asked, 
as  he  turned  to  her  from  unharnessing  the  horses. 

"Yes,  indeed,  if  you  think  I'm  competent." 

"You  are  more  so  than  I  am.  Somehow,  little  chickens 
don't  thrive  under  a  busy  man's  care.  The  mother  hens 
mean  well,  but  they  are  so  confoundedly  silly.  I  declare  to 
you  that  last  year  I  lost  half  the  little  chicks  that  were 
hatched  out." 

"Well,  then,"  she  replied,  laughing,  "I  won't  be  afraid  to 
try,  for  I  think  I  can  beat  you  in  raising  chickens.  Now, 
show  me  how  much  you  feed  them  at  night  and  how  much  I'm 
to  give  them  in  the  morning,  and  let  me  take  the  whole  care 
of  them  for  a  month,  get  the  eggs,  and  all.  If  they  don't 
do  so  well,  then  I'll  resign.  I  can't  break  you  in  a  month." 

"It  looks  more  as  if  you'd  make  me.     You  have  a  good 


GIVEN  HER    OWN   WAY  215 

big  bump  of  order,  and  I  haven't  any  at  all  in  little  things. 
Tom  Watterly  was  right.  If  I  had  tried  to  live  here  alone, 
things  would  have  got  into  an  awful  mess.  I  feel  ashamed 
of  myself  that  I  didn't  clear  up  the  yard  before,  but  my  whole 
mind's  been  on  the  main  crops." 

"As  it  should  be.  Don't  you  worry  about  the  little 
things.  They  belong  to  me.  Now  show  me  about  the  chick- 
ens, or  they'll  go  to  roost  while  we're  talking." 

"But  I,  as  well  as  the  chickens,  shall  want  some  supper." 

"I  won't  let  either  of  you  starve.     You'll  see." 

"Well,  you  see  this  little  measure  ?  You  fill  it  from  this 
bin  with  this  mixture  of  corn  and  wheat  screenings.  That's 
the  allowance,  morning  and  evening.  Then  you  go  out  to 
the  barnyard  there  and  call  'kip,  kip,  kip.'  That's  the  way 
my  wife  used — "  He  stopped  in  a  little  embarrassment. 

"I'd  be  glad  if  I  could  do  everything  as  she  did,"  said 
Alida,  gently.  "It  has  grown  clearer  every  day  how  hard  her 
loss  was  to  you.  If  you'll  tell  me  what  she  did  and  how 
she  did  things — "  and  she  hesitated. 

"That's  good  of  you,  Alida,"  he  replied,  gratefully. 
Then  with  his  directness  of  speech  he  added,  "I  believe  some 
women  are  inclined  to  be  jealous  even  of  the  dead." 

"You  need  never  fear  to  speak  of  your  wife  to  me.  I 
respect  and  honor  your  feelings — the  way  you  remember 
her.  There's  no  reason  why  it  should  be  otherwise.  I  did 
not  agree  to  one  thing  and  expect  another,"  and  she  looked 
him  straight  in  the  eyes. 

He  dropped  them,  as  he  stood  leaning  against  the  bin  in 
the  shadowy  old  barn,  and  said,  "I  didn't  think  you  or  any 
one  would  be  so  sensible.  Of  course  one  can't  forget 
quickly — " 

"You  oughtn't  to  forget,"  was  the  firm  reply.  "Why 
should  you?  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  you  could  forget." 

"I  fear  I'm  not  like  to  make  you  sorry,"  he  replied,  sigh- 
ing. "To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  added,  looking  at  her  almost 
commiseratingly,  and  then  he  hesitated. 

"Well,  the  truth  is  usually  best,"  she  said,  quietly. 


216  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  my  thought.  We  married  in  haste, 
we  were  almost  strangers,  and  your  mind  was  so  distracted 
at  the  time  that  I  couldn't  blame  you  if  you  forgot  what — 
what  I  said.  I  feared — well,  you  are  carrying  out  our  agree- 
ment so  sensibly  that  I  want  to  thank  you.  It's  a  relief  to. 
find  that  you're  not  opposed,  even  in  your  heart,  that  I  should 
remember  one  that  I  knew  as  a  little  child  and  married  when 
I  was  young." 

"I  remember  all  you  said  and  what  I  said,"  she  replied, 
with  the  same  direct,  honest  gaze.  "Don't  let  such  thoughts 
trouble  you  any  more.  You've  been  kinder  and  more  con- 
siderate than  I  ever  expected.  You  have  only  to  tell  me  how 
she  did—" 

"]STo,  Alida,"  he  said,  quietly,  obeying  a  subtle  impulse. 
"I'd  rather  you  would  do  everything  your  own  way — as  it's 
natural  for  you.  There,  we've  talked  so  long  that  it's  too 
late  to  feed  the  chickens  to-night.  You  can  begin  in  the 
morning." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  "and  you  have  all  your  other  work  to 
do.  I've  hindered  rather  than  helped  you  by  coming  out." 

"No,"  he  replied,  decidedly,  "you've  helped  me.  I'll  be 
in  before  very  long." 

She  returned  to  the  house  and  busied  herself  in  prepara- 
tions for  supper.  She  was  very  thoughtful,  and  at  last  con- 
cluded, "Yes,  he  is  right.  I  understand.  Although  I  may 
do  what  his  wife  did,  he  don't  wish  me  to  do  it  as  she  did. 
There  could  only  be  a  partial  and  painful  resemblance  to 
his  eyes.  Both  he  and  I  would  suffer  in  comparisons  and 
he  be  continually  reminded  of  his  loss.  She  was  his  wife  in 
reality,  and  all  relating  to  her  is  something  sacred  and  past 
to  him.  The  less  I  am  like  her,  the  better.  He  married 
me  for  the  sake  of  his  farm,  and  I  can  best  satisfy  him  by 
carrying  out  his  purpose  in  my  own  way.  He's  through 
with  sentiment  and  has  taken  the  kindest  way  he  could  to 
tell  me  that  I've  nothing  to  do  with  his  past.  He  feared, 
yes,  he  feared  I  should  forget  our  businesslike  agreement! 
I  didn't  know  I  had  given  him  cause  to  fear,  I  certainly 


won't  hereafter!"  and  the  wife  felt,  with  a  trace  of  bitter- 
ness and  shame,  that  she  had  been  put  on  her  guard,  that 
her  husband  had  wished  to  remind  her  that  she  must  not 
forget  his  motive  in  marrying  her  or  expect  anything  not  in 
consonance  with  that  motive.  Perhaps  she  had  been  too 
wifelike  in  her  manner  and  therefore  he  had  feared.  She 
was  as  sensitive  to  such  a  reproach  as  she  would  have  been  in 
her  girlhood. 

For  once,  her  intuition  was  at  fault  and  she  misjudged 
Holcroft  in  some  respects.  He  did  think  he  was  through 
with  sentiment ;  he  could  not  have  talked  deliberately  to 
Alida  or  to  any  other  about  his  old  life  and  love,  and  he 
truly  felt  that  she  had  no  part  in  that  life.  It  had  become 
a  sad  and  sacred  memory,  yet  he  wished  to  feel  that  he  had 
the  right  to  dwell  upon  it  as  he  chose.  In  his  downright 
sincerity,  he  wished  her  to  know  that  he  could  not  help 
dwelling  on  it;  that  for  him  some  things  were  over  and  that 
he  was  not  to  blame.  He  was  profoundly  grateful  to  her  that 
she  had  so  clearly  accepted  the  facts  of  his  past,  and 
of  their  own  present  relations.  He  had  feared,  it  is  true, 
but  she  had  not  realized  his  fears,  and  he  felt  that  it  was 
her  due  that  he  should  acknowledge  her  straightforward 
carrying  out  of  the  compact  made  under  circumstances  which 
might  well  excuse  her  from  realizing  everything  fully. 

Moreover,  direct  and  matter-of-fact  as  he  was,  he  had  felt 
vaguely  the  inevitable  difficulties  of  their  relationship.  The 
very  word  "wife"  might  suggest  to  her  mind  an  affection 
which  he  believed  it  was  not  in  his  power  to  bestow.  They 
had  agreed  to  give  an  arbitrary  and  unusual  meaning  to  their 
marriage,  and,  while  thinking  it  could  have  no  other  meaning 
for  him,  his  mind  was  haunted,  and  he  feared  that  hers  might 
be,  by  the  natural  significance  of  the  rite.  So  far  from 
meaning  to  hint  that  she  had  been  too  wifelike,  he  had  meant 
to  acknowledge  her  simple  and  natural  fulfilment  of  his 
wishes  in  a  position  far  more  difficult  to  fill  than  even  he  im- 
agined. That  she  succeeded  so  well  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
she  entertained  for  him  all  the  kind  feelings  possible  ex- 
it—J— XVIII 


218  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

cept  the  one  supreme  regard  which  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances would  have  accounted  for  the  marriage.  The  reason 
that  all  promised  to  go  so  well  in  their  relationship  of  mere 
mutual  help  was  the  truth  that  this  basis  of  union  had  satis- 
fied their  mutual  need.  'As  the  farmer  had  hoped,  they  had 
became  excellent  friends,  supplementing  each  other's  work 
in  a  way  that  promised  prosperity. 

Without  the  least  intention  on  the  part  of  either,  chance 
words  had  been  spoken  which  would  not  be  without  effect. 
He  had  told  her  to  do  everything  in  her  own  way,  because 
the  moment  he  thought  of  it  he  knew  he  liked  her  ways. 
They  possessed  a  novelty  and  natural  grace  which  interested 
him.  There  is  both  a  natural  and  a  conventional  grace,  and 
the  true  lady  learns  to  blend  the  one  with  the  other  so  as  to 
make  a  charming  manner  essentially  her  own — a  manner 
which  makes  a  woman  a  lady  the  world  over.  Alida  had 
little  more  than  natural  grace  and  refinement  unmodified  by 
society.  This  the  plain  farmer  could  understand  and  he 
was  already  awakening  to  an  appreciation  of  it.  It  impressed 
him  agreeably  that  Alida  should  be  trim  and  neat  while  about 
her  work,  and  all  her  actions  were  entirelly  free  from  the 
coarse,  slovenly  manner,  the  limp  carriage  and  slatternly  as- 
ject  of  the  whole  tribe  which  had  come  and  gone  during 
the  past  year.  They  had  all  been  so  much  alike  in  possess- 
ing disagreeable  traits  that  he  felt  that  Alida  was  the  only 
peculiar  one  among  them.  He  never  thought  of  instituting 
comparisons  between  her  and  his  former  wife,  yet  he  did 
so  unconsciously.  Mrs.  Holcroft  had  been  too  much  like 
himself,  matter-of-fact,  materialistic,  kind  and  good.  Devoid 
of  imagination,  uneducated  in  mind,  her  thoughts  had  not 
ranged  far  from  what  she  touched  and  saw.  She  touched 
them  with  something  of  their  own  heaviness,  she  saw  them 
as  objects — just  what  they  were — and  was  incapable  of  ob- 
taining from  them  much  suggestion  or  enjoyment.  She 
knew  when  the  cherry  and  plum  trees  were  in  blossom  just 
as  she  knew  it  was  April.  The  beautiful  sounds  and  changes 
in  nature  reminded  her  that  it  was  time  to  do  certain  kinds 


GIVEN  HER    OWN    WAY  219 

of  work,  and  with  her,  work  was  alpha  and  omega.  As  her 
mother  had  before  her,  she  was  inclined  to  be  a  house-drudge 
rather  than  a  housewife.  Thrift,  neatness,  order,  marked 
the  limits  of  her  endeavor,  and  she  accomplished  her  tasks 
with  the  awkward,  brisk  directness  learned  in  her  mother's 
kitchen.  Only  mind,  imagination  and  refinement  can  em- 
broider the  homely  details  of  life.  Alida  would  learn  to  do 
all  that  she  had  done,  but  the  woman  with  the  finer  nature 
would  do  it  in  a  different  way.  Holcroft  already  knew  he 
liked  this  way,  although  he  could  not  define  it  to  himself. 
Tired  as  he  was  when  he  came  home  in  the  evening,  his  eyes 
would  often  kindle  with  pleasure  at  some  action  or  remark 
that  interested  him  from  its  novelty.  In  spite  of  his  weari- 
ness and  pre-occupation,  in  spite  of  a  still  greater  obstacle — 
the  inertia  of  a  mind  dulled  by  material  life — he  had  begun 
to  consider  Alida's  personality  for  its  own  sake.  He  liked  to 
watch  her,  not  to  see  what  she  did  to  his  advantage,  but  how 
she  did  it.  She  was  awakening  an  agreeable  expectancy,  and 
he  sometimes  smilingly  said  to  himself,  "What  next?" 

"Oh,  no,"  he  thought,  as  he  was  milking  the  last  cow, 
"I'd  much  rather  she'd  take  her  own  natural  way  in  doing 
things.  It  would  be  easier  for  her  and  it's  her  right  and — 
and  somehow  I  like  her  way  just  as  I  used  to  like  Bessie's 
ways.  She  isn't  Bessie  and  never  can  be,  and  for  some  rea- 
son I'd  like  her  to  be  as  different  as  possible." 

Unconsciously  and  unintentionally,  however,  he  had 
given  Alida's  sensitive  nature  a  slight  wound.  She  felt  that 
she  had  been  told  in  effect,  "You  can  help  me  all  you  please, 
and  I  would  rather  you  would  do  this  in  a  way  that  will  not 
awaken  associations,  but  you  must  not  think  of  me  or  expect 
me  to  think  of  you  in  any  light  that  was  not  agreed  upon." 
That  he  had  feared  the  possibility  of  this,  that  he  might 
have  fancied  he  saw  indications  of  this,  hurt  her  pride — 
that  pride  and  delicacy  of  feeling  which  most  women  shield 
so  instinctively.  She  was  now  consciously  on  her  guard, 
and  so  was  not  so  secure  against  the  thoughts  she  depre- 
cated as  before.  In  spite  of  herself  a  restraint  would  tinge 


220.  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

her  manner  which  he  would  eventually  feel  in  a  vague,  un- 
comfortable way. 

But  he  came  in  at  last,  very  tired  and  thoroughly  good- 
natured.  "I'm  going  to  town  to-morrow/'  he  said,  "and  I 
thought  of  taking  a  very  early  start  so  as  to  save  time. 
Would  you  like  to  go  ?" 

"There's  no  need  of  my  going." 

"I  thought  perhaps  you'd  enjoy  the  drive." 

"I  would  have  to  meet  strangers  and  I'm  so  entirely 
content  in  being  alone — I  won't  go  this  time  unless  you  wish 
it." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  care  about  it  I'll  carry  out  my  first 
plan  and  take  a  very  early  start.  I  want  to  sell  the  butter 
and  eggs  on  hand,  repay  Tom  Watterly  and  get  some  seeds. 
We  need  some  things  from  the  store,  too,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  you  are  such  a  coffee  drinker" — she  began,  smiling. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  he  interrupted.  "Make  out  your  list. 
You  shall  say  what  we  want.  Isn't  there  something  you 
want  for  yourself  ?" 

"No,  not  for  myself,  but  I  do  want  something  that  per- 
haps you  would  enjoy,  too.  You  may  think  it  a  waste  of 
money,  though." 

"Well,  you've  a  right  to  waste  some  in  your  way  as  well 
as  I  have  over  my  pipe." 

"That's  good.  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  You  are  the 
one  that  puts  notions  into  my  head.  I  would  like  three  or 
four  geraniums  and  a  few  flower  seeds." 

He  looked  as  if  he  was  thinking  deeply  and  she  felt  a 
little  hurt  that  he  should  not  comply  at  once  with  her  re- 
quest, knowing  that  the  outlay  suggested  was  very  slight. 

At  last,  he  looked  up,  smiling  as  he  said,  "So  I  put  notions 
into  your  head,  do  I?" 

"Oh,  well,"  she  replied,  flushing  in  the  consciousness  of 
her  thoughts,  "if  you  think  it's  foolish  to  spend  money  for 
such  things — " 

"Tush !  tush !  Alida.  Of  course  I'll  get  what  you  wish. 
But  I  really  am  going  to  put  a  notion  into  your  head,  and 


GIVEN  HER    OWN    WAY  221 

it's  stupid  and  scarcely  fair  in  me  that  I  hadn't  thought  of 
some  such  plan  before.  You  want  to  take  care  of  the  chick- 
ens. Well,  I  put  them  wholly  in  your  care  and  you  shall 
have  all  you  can  make  off  them — eggs,  young  chickens  and 
everything." 

"That  is  a  new  notion,"  she  replied,  laughing.  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  such  a  thing  and  it's  more  than  fair.  What 
would  I  do  with  so  much  money?" 

"What  you  please.  Buy  yourself  silk  dresses  if  you  want 
to." 

"But  I  couldn't  use  a  quarter  of  the  money." 

"No  matter,  use  what  you  like  and  I'll  put  the  rest  in  the 
bank  for  you  and  in  your  name.  I  was  a  nice  kind  of  a 
business  partner,  wasn't  I  ? — expecting  you  to  do  nearly  half 
the  work  and  then  have  you  say,  'Will  you  please  get  me 
a  few  plants  and  seeds?'  and  then,  'Oh,  if  you  think  it's 
foolish  to  spend  money  for  such  things.'  Why,  you  have  as 
good  a  right  to  spend  some  of  the  money  you  help  earn 
as  I  have.  You've  shown  you'll  be  sensible  in  spending  it. 
I  don't  believe  you'll  use  enough  of  it.  Anyway,  it  will  be 
yours,  as  it  ought  to  be." 

"Very  well,"  she  replied,  nodding  at  him  with  piquant 
significance,  "I'll  always  have  some  to  lend  you." 

"Yes,  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  were  the  richest  some  day. 
Everything  you  touch  seems  to  turn  out  well.  I  shall  be 
wholly  dependent  on  you  hereafter  for  eggs  and  an  occa- 
sional fricassee." 

"You  shall  have  your  share.  Yes,  I  like  this  notion.  It 
grows  on  me.  I'd  like  to  earn  some  money  to  do  what  I 
please  with.  You'll  be  surprised  to  see  what  strange  and 
extravagant  tastes  I'll  develop!" 

"I  expect  to  be  perfectly  dumfoundered,  as  Mrs.  Mump- 
son  used  to  say.  Since  you  are  so  willing  to  lend,  I'll  lend 
you  enough  to  get  all  you  want  to-morrow.  Make  out  your 
list.  You  can  get  a  good  start  to-morrow,  for  I  was  too  tired 
and  -it  was  too  late  for  me  to  gather  the  eggs  to-night.  I 
know,  too,  that  a  good  many  of  the  hens  have  stolen  their 


222  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

nests  of  late,  and  I've  been  too  busy  to  look  for  'em.  You 
may  find  perfect  mines  of  eggs,  but,  for  mercy's  sake !  don't 
climb  around  in  dangerous  places.  I  had  such  bad  luck 
with  chicks  last  year  that  I've  only  set  a  few  hens.  You 
can  set  few  or  many  now,  just  as  you  please." 

Even  as  he  talked  and  leisurely  finished  his  supper,  his 
eyes  grew  heavy  with  sleep.  "What  time  will  you  start 
to-morrow?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  no  matter;  long  before  you  are  up  or  ought  to  be. 
I'll  get  myself  a  cup  of  coffee.  I  expect  to  do  my  morning 
work  and  be  back  by  nine  or  ten  o'clock,  for  I  wish  to  get 
in  some  potatoes  and  other  vegetables  before  Sunday." 

"Very  well,  I'll  make  out  my  list  and  lay  it  on  the  table 
here.  Now,  why  don't  you  go  and  sleep  at  once?  You 
ought,  with  such  an  early  start  in  prospect." 

"Ought  I?  Well,  I  never  felt  more  inclined  to  do  my 
duty.  You  must  own  up  I  have  put  one  good  notion  into 
your  head?" 

"I  have  said  nothing  against  any  of  them.  Come,  you 
ought  to  go  at  once." 

"Can't  I  smoke  my  pipe  first,  please  ?" 

"You'll  find  it  quieter  in  the  parlor." 

"But  it's  pleasanter  here  where  I  can  watch  you." 

"Do  you  think  I  need  watching  ?" 

"Yes,  a  little,  since  you  don't  look  after  your  own  inter- 
ests very  sharply." 

"It  isn't  my  way  to  look  after  anything  very  sharply." 

"No,  Alida,  thank  the  Lord!  There's  nothing  sharp 
about  you,  not  even  your  tongue.  You  won't  mind  being 
left  alone  a  few  hours  to-morrow  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  I  like  to  be  alone." 

"I  thought  I  did.  Most  every  one  has  seemed  a  crowd 
to  me.  I'm  glad  you've  never  given  me  that  feeling.  Well, 
good-by  till  you  see  me  driving  up  with  the  geraniums." 


CHARIVARI  228 


CHAPTEK   XXV 

A     CHAKIVABI 

THE  eastern  horizon  was  aglow  with  rosy  tints  the  fol- 
lowing morning  when  Holcroft  awoke;  the  stars 
were  but  just  fading  from  the  sky  and  the  birds  were 
still  silent.  He  knew  by  these  signs  that  it  was  very  early 
and  that  he  could  carry  out  his  plan  of  a  timely  start  to  town. 
Dressing  very  quietly,  he  stole  downstairs,  shoes  in  hand, 
lest  his  tread  should  awaken  Alida.  The  kitchen  door  lead- 
ing into  the  hall  was  closed.  Lifting  the  latch  carefully,  he 
found  the  lamp  burning,  the  breakfast  table  set  and  the  ket- 
tle humming  over  a  good  fire.  "This  is  her  work,  but  where 
is  she  ?"  he  queried  in  much  surprise. 

The  outer  door  was  ajar;  he  noiselessly  crossed  the  room, 
and  looikng  out,  he  saw  her.  She  had  been  to  the  well  for 
a  pail  of  water,  but  had  set  it  down  and  was  watching  the 
swiftly  brightening  east.  She  was  so  still  and  her  face  so 
white  in  the  faint  radiance  that  he  had  an  odd,  uncanny  im- 
pression. No  woman  that  he  had  ever  known  would  stop 
that  way  to  look  at  the  dawn.  He  could  see  nothing  so  pe- 
culiar in  it  as  to  attract  such  fixed  attention.  "Alida,"  he 
asked,  "what  do  you  see?" 

She  started  slightly  and  turned  to  take  up  the  pail;  but 
he  had  already  sprung  down  the  steps  and  relieved  her  of 
the  burden. 

"Could  anything  be  more  lovely  than  those  changing 
tints?  It  seems  to  me  I  could  have  stood  there  an  hour," 
she  said,  quietly. 

"You  are  not  walking  or  doing  all  this  in  your  sleep,  are 


224  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

you  ?"  he  asked,  laughing,  yet  regarding  her  curiously.  "You 
looked  as  you  stood  there  like  what  people  call  a — what's 
that  big  word?" 

"I'm  not  a  somnambulist  and  never  was,  to  my  knowl- 
edge. You'll  find  I'm  wide  enough  awake  to  have  a  good 
breakfast  soon." 

"But  I  didn't  expect  you  to  get  up  so  early.  I  didn't 
wish  it." 

"It's  too  late  now,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  "so  I  hope  you 
won't  find  fault  with  me  for  doing  what  I  wanted  to  do." 

"Did  you  mean  to  be  up  and  have  breakfast  when  I  told 
you  last  night?" 

"Yes.  Of  course  I  didn't  let  you  know,  for  you  would 
have  said  I  mustn't,  and  then  I  couldn't.  It  isn't  good  for 
people  to  get  up  so  early  and  do  as  much  as  you  had  on  your 
mind  without  eating.  Now  you  won't  be  any  the  worse  for 
it." 

"I  certainly  ought  to  be  the  better  for  so  much  kindly 
consideration;  but  it  will  cure  me  of  such  unearthly  hours 
if  you  feel  that  you  must  conform  to  them.  You  look  pale 
this  morning,  Alida;  you're  not  strong  enough  to  do  such 
things,  and  there's  no  need  of  it  when  I'm  so  used  to  wait- 
ing on  myself." 

"I  shall  have  to  remind  you,"  she  replied,  with  a  bright 
look  at  him  over  her  shoulder,  "that  you  said  I  could  do 
things  my  own  way." 

"Well,  it  seems  odd  after  a  year  when  every  one  who 
came  here  appeared  to  grudge  doing  a  thing  for  a  man's 
comfort." 

"I  should  hope  I  was  different  from  them." 

"Well,  you  are.  I  thought  you  were  different  from  any 
one  I  ever  knew  as  I  saw  you  there  looking  at  the  east.  You 
seem  wonderfully  fond  of  pretty  things." 

"I'll  own  to  that.  But  if  yon  don't  hurry  you  won't  do 
as  much  as  you  hoped  by  getting  up  early." 

The  morning  was  very  mild  and  she  left  the  outer  door 
open  as  she  went  quickly  to  and  fro  with  elasticity  of  spirit 


A    CHARIVARI  225 

as  well  as  step.  It  was  pleasant  to  have  her  efforts  appre- 
ciated and  almost  as  grateful  to  hear  the  swelling  harmony 
of  song  from  the  awakening  birds.  The  slight  cloud  that 
had  fallen  on  her  thoughts  the  evening  before  had  lifted. 
She  felt  that  she  understood  Holcroft  better,  and  saw  that 
his  feeling  was  only  that  of  honest  friendliness  and  satisfac- 
tion. She  had  merely  to  recognize  and  respond  to  so  much 
only  and  all  would  be  well.  Meantime,  she  desired  nothing 
more,  and  he  should  be  thoroughly  convinced  of  this  fact. 
She  grew  positively  light-hearted  over  the  fuller  assurance 
of  the  truth  that  although  a  wife,  she  was  not  expected  to 
love — only  to  be  faithful  to  all  his  interests.  This,  and  this 
only,  she  believed  to  be  within  her  power. 

Holcroft  departed  in  the  serenity  characteristic  of  one's 
mood  when  the  present  is  so  agreeable  that  neither  memo- 
ries of  the  past  nor  misgivings  as  to  the  future  are  obtrusive. 
He  met  Watterly  in  town,  and  remarked,  "This  is  another 
piece  of  good  luck.  I  hadn't  time  to  go  out  to  your  place, 
although  I  meant  to  take  time." 

"A  piece  of  good  luck  indeed!"  Tom  mentally  echoed, 
for  he  would  have  been  greatly  embarrassed  if  Holcroft  had 
called.  Mrs.  Watterly  felt  that  she  had  been  scandalized  by 
the  marriage  which  had  taken  place  in  her  absence,  and  was 
all  the  more  resentful  for  the  reason  that  she  had  spoken  to 
a  cousin  of  uncertain  age  and  still  more  uncertain  temper  in 
behalf  of  the  farmer.  In  Mrs.  Watterly's  estimate  of  action, 
it  was  either  right,  that  is,  in  accordance  with  her  views,  or 
else  it  was  intolerably  wrong  and  without  excuse.  Poor 
Tom  had  been  made  to  feel  that  he  had  not  only  committed 
an  almost  unpardonable  sin  against  his  wife  and  her  cousin, 
but  also  against  all  the  proprieties  of  life.  "The  idea  of 
such  a  wedding  taking  place  in  my  rooms  and  with  my  hus- 
band's sanction !"  she  had  said  with  concentrated  bitterness. 
Then  had  followed  what  he  was  accustomed  to  characterize 
as  a  spell  of  "zero  weather."  He  discreetly  said  nothing. 
"It  didn't  seem  such  a  bad  idea  to  me,"  he  thought,  "but 
then  I  suppose  women  folks  know  best  about  such  things." 


226  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

He  was  too  frank  in  his  nature  to  conceal  from  Holcroft 
his  misgivings  or  his  wife's  scornful  and  indignant  disap- 
proval. "Sorry  Angj  feels  so  bad  about  it,  Jim,"  he  said, 
ruefully,  "but  she  says  I  mustn't  buy  anything  more  of  you." 

"Or  have  anything  more  to  do  with  me,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Oh,  come  now.  You  know  a  man's  got  to  let  his 
women  folks  have  their  say  about  household  matters,  but 
that  don't  make  any  difference  in  my  feelings  toward  you." 

"Well,  well,  Tom,  if  it  did,  I  should  be  slow  to  quarrel 
with  a  man  who  had  done  me  as  good  a  turn  as  you  have. 
Thank  the  Lord ;  I've  got  a  wife  that'll  let  me  have  some 
say  about  household  and  all  other  matters.  You,  too,  are 
inclined  to  think  that  I'm  in  an  awful  scrape.  I  feel  less 
like  getting  out  of  it  every  day.  My  wife  is  as  respectable 
as  I  am  and  a  good  sight  better  than  I  am.  If  I'm  no 
longer  respectable  for  having  married  her,  I  certainly  am 
better  contented  than  I  ever  expected  to  be  again.  I  want 
it  understood,  though,  that  the  man  who  says  anything  against 
my  wife  may  have  to  get  me  arrested  for  assault  and  bat- 
tery." 

"When  it  comes  to  that,  Jim,"  replied  Watterly,  who  was 
meek  only  in  the  presence  of  his  wife,  "I'd  just  as  lief  speak 
against  her  as  wink  if  there  was  anything  to  say.  But  I  say 
now,  as  I  said  to  you  at  first,  she  ain't  one  of  the  common 
sort.  I  thought  well  of  her  at  first  and  I  think  better  of 
her  now  since  she's  doing  so  well  by  you.  But  I  suppose 
marrying  a  woman  situated  as  she  was  isn't  according  to 
regulation.  We  men  are  apt  to  act  like  the  boys  we  used  to 
be  and  go  for  what  we  want  without  thinking  of  the  conse- 
quences." 

"It's  the  consequences  that  please  me  most.  If  you  had 
been  dependent  on  Mumpsons,  Malonys  and  Wigginses  for 
your  home  comfort  you  wouldn't  worry  about  the  talk  of 
people  who'd  never  raise  a  finger  for  you.  Well,  good-by, 
I'm  in  a  hurry.  Your  heart's  in  the  right  place,  Tom,  and 
some  day  you'll  come  out  and  take  dinner  with  me.  One 
dinner,  such  as  she'll  give  you,  will  bring  you  round.  One 


A    CHARIVARI  227 

of  our  steady  dishes  is  a  bunch  of  flowers  and  I  enjoy  'em, 
too.  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a  hard-headed  old  fel- 
low like  me?" 

Some  men  are  chilled  by  public  disapproval  and  waver 
under  it,  but  Holcroft  was  thereby  only  the  more  strongly 
confirmed  in  his  course.  Alida  had  won  his  esteem  as  well 
as  his  goodwill,  and  it  was  the  instinct  of  his  manhood  to 
protect  and  champion  her.  He  bought  twice  as  many 
flowers  and  seeds  as  she  had  asked  for,  and  also  selected  two 
simple  flower  vases,  then  started  on  his  return  with  the  feel- 
ing that  he  had  a  home. 

Alida  entered  upon  her  duties  to  the  poultry  with  almost 
the  pleasure  of  a  child.  She  first  fed  them,  then  explored 
every  accessible  nook  and  hiding  place  in  the  barn  and  out- 
buildings. It  was  evident  that  many  of  the  biddies  had 
stolen  their  nests  and  some  were  brooding  upon  them  with 
no  disposition  to  be  disturbed.  Out  of  the  hundred  or  more 
fowls  on  the  place,  a  good  many  were  clucking  their  maternal 
instincts,  and  their  new  keeper  resolved  to  put  eggs  under 
all  except  the  flighty  ones  that  left  their  nests  within  two  or 
three  days'  trial.  As  the  result  of  her  search,  the  empty 
egg-basket  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  full  again  very  soon.  She 
gloated  over  her  spoils  as  she  smilingly  assured  herself,  "I. 
shall  take  him  at  his  word.  I  shall  spend  nearly  all  I  make 
this  year  in  fixing  up  the  old  house  within  and  without,  so 
he'll  scarcely  know  it." 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  before  Holcroft  drove  to  the  door 
with  the  flowers,  and  he  was  amply  repaid  by  her  pleasure 
in  receiving  them.  "Why,  I  only  expected  geraniums,"  she 
said,  "and  you've  bought  half  a  dozen  other  kinds." 

"And  I  expected  to  get  my  own  coffee  this  morning  and 
a  good  breakfast  was  given  me  instead,  so  we  are  quits." 

"You're  probably  ready  for  your  dinner  now,  if  it  is  an 
hour  earlier  than  usual.  It  will  be  ready  in  ten  minutes." 

"Famous !  That  will  give  me  a  good  long  afternoon.  I 
say,  Alida,  when  do  you  want  the  flower-beds  made  ?" 

"No  hurry  about  them.     I  shall  keep  the  plants  in  the 


228  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

window  for  a  week  or  two.  It  isn't  safe  to  put  them  out- 
doors before  the  last  of  May.  I'll  have  some  slips  ready  by 
that  time." 

"Yes,  I  know.  You'll  soon  have  enough  to  set  out  an 
acre." 

The  days  of  another  week  passed  quietly  and  rapidly 
away,  Alida  becoming  almost  as  much  absorbed  in  her  inter- 
ests as  he  in  his.  Every  hour  added  to  the  beauty  of  the 
season  without.  The  unplowed  fields  were  taking  on  a  vivid 
green  and  Holcroft  said  that  on  the  following  Monday  the 
cows  should  go  out  to  pasture.  Wholesome,  agreeable  oc- 
cupation enabled  Alida  to  put  away  sad  thoughts  and  memo- 
ries. Nature  and  pleasant  work  are  two  potent  healers,  and 
she  was  rallying  fast  under  their  ministry.  Holcroft  would 
have  been  blind  indeed  had  he  not  observed  changes  for  the 
better.  Her  thin  cheeks  were  becoming  fuller,  and  her  ex- 
ertions, with  the  increasing  warmth  of  the  season,  often 
flushed  her  face  with  a  charming  color.  The  old  sad  and 
troubled  expression  was  passing  away  from  her  blue  eyes. 
Every  day  it  seemed  easier  for  her  to  laugh,  and  her  step 
grew  more  elastic.  It  was  all  so  gradual  that  he  never  ques- 
tioned it,  but  his  eyes  followed  her  with  increasing  pleas- 
ure and  he  listened  when  she  spoke,  with  deepening  inter- 
est. Sundays  had  been  long  and  father  dreary  days,  but 
now  he  positively  welcomed  their  coming  and  looked  forward 
to  the  hours  when,  instead  of  brooding  over  the  past,  he 
should  listen  to  her  pleasant  voice  reading  his  few  and  neg- 
lected books.  There  was  a  new  atmosphere  in  his  home — a 
new  influence,  under  which  his  mind  was  awakening  in  spite 
of  his  weariness  and  absorption  in  the  interests  of  the  farm. 
Alida  was  always  ready  to  talk  about  these,  and  her  questions 
would  soon  enable  her  to  talk  understandingly.  She  dis- 
played ignorance  enough,  and  this  amused  him,  but  her 
queries  evinced  no  stupidity.  In  reading  to  her  father  and 
in  the  cultivation  of  flowers,  she  had  obtained  hints  of  vital 
horticultural  principles,  and  Holcroft  said  to  her  laughingly 


A    CHARIVARI  229 

one  evening  at  supper,  "You'll  soon  learn  all  I  know  and 
begin  to  teach  me." 

Her  manner  of  deprecating  such  remarks  was  to  exagger- 
ate them  and  she  replied,  "Yes,  next  week  you  will  sell  my 
eggs  and  I  shall  subscribe  for  the  agricultural  paper  my 
father  used  to  take.  Then  will  begin  all  the  improvements 
of  book-farming.  I  shall  advise  you  to  sow  oats  in  June, 
plant  corn  in  March  and  show  you  generally  that  all  your 
experience  counts  for  nothing." 

This  kind  of  badinage  was  new  to  the  farmer  and  it 
amused  him  immensely.  He  did  not  grow  sleepy  so  early 
in  the  evening,  and  as  he  was  driving  his  work  prosperously 
he  shortened  his  hours  of  labor  slightly.  She  also  found 
time  to  read  the  county  paper  and  gossip  a  little  about  the 
news,  thus  making  a  beginning  in  putting  him  and  herself 
en  rapport  with  other  interests  than  those  which  centred  in 
the  farm.  In  brief,  she  had  an  active,  intelligent  mind  and 
a  companionable  nature.  Her  boundless  gratitude  for  her 
home,  which  daily  grew  more  homelike,  led  her  to  employ 
all  her  tact  in  adding  to  his  enjoyment.  Yet  so  fine  was  her 
tact  that  her  manner  was  a  simple  embodiment  of  goodwill, 
and  he  was  made  to  feel  that  it  was  nothing  more. 

While  all  was  passing  so  genially  and  satisfactorily  to 
Holcroft,  it  may  well  be  supposed  that  his  conduct  was  not 
at  all  to  the  mind  of  his  neighbors.  News,  especially  during 
the  busy  spring  season,  permeates  a  country  neighborhood 
slowly.  The  fact  of  his  marriage  had  soon  become  known, 
and  eventually,  through  Justice  Harkins,  the  circumstances 
relating  to  it  and  something  of  Alida's  previous  history,  in  a 
garbled  form,  came  to  be  discussed  at  rural  firesides.  The 
majority  of  the  men  laughed  and  shrugged  their  shoulders, 
implying  it  was  none  of  their  business,  but  not  a  few,  among 
whom  was  Lemuel  Weeks,  held  up  their  hands  and  spoke  of 
the  event  in  terms  of  the  severest  reprehension.  Many  of 
the  farmers'  wives  and  their  maiden  sisters  were  quite  as 
much  scandalized  as  Mrs.  Watterly  had  been,  that  an  un- 
known woman,  of  whom  strange  stories  were  told,  should 


230  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

have  been  brought  into  the  community  from  the  poorhouse, 
"and  after  such  a  heathenish  marriage,  too,"  they  said.  It 
was  irregular,  unprecedented  and  therefore  utterly  wrong 
and  subversive  of  the  morals  of  the  town.  They  longed  to 
ostracise  poor  Alida,  yet  saw  no  chance  of  doing  so.  They 
could  only  talk,  and  talk  they  did,  in  a  way  that  would  have 
made  her  ears  tingle  had  she  heard. 

The  young  men  and  older  boys,  however,  believed  that 
they  could  do  more  than  talk.  Timothy  Weeks  had  said  to 
a  group  of  his  familiars,  "Let's  give  old  Holcroft  and  his 
poorhouse  bride  a  skinielton  that  will  let  'em  know  what 
folks  think  of  'em." 

The  scheme  found  favor  at  once,  and  Tim  Weeks  was 
soon  recognized  as  organizer  and  leader  of  the  peculiar  style 
of  serenade  contemplated.  After  his  day's  work  was  over,  he 
rode  here  and  there  summoning  congenial  spirits.  The 
project  soon  became  pretty  well  known  in  several  families, 
but  the  elder  members  remained  discreetly  blind  and  deaf, 
proposing  to  wink  at  what  was  going  on,  yet  take  no  com- 
promising part  themselves.  Lemuel  Weeks  winked  very 
knowingly  and  suggestively.  He  kept  within  such  bounds, 
however,  as  would  enable  him  to  swear  that  he  knew  nothing 
and  had  said  nothing,  but  his  son  had  never  felt  more  assured 
of  his  father's  sympathy.  When  at  last  the  motley  gather- 
ing rendezvoused  at  Tim's  house,  Weeks  senior  was  conveni- 
ently making  a  call  on  a  near  neighbor. 

It  was  Saturday  evening  and  the  young  May  moon  would 
furnish  sufficient  light  without  revealing  identity  too  clearly. 
About  a  score  of  young  fellows  and  hired  farm  hands  of  the 
ruder  sort  came  riding  and  trudging  to  Weeks's  barn  where 
there  was  a  barrel  of  cider  on  tap.  Here  they  blackened 
their  faces  with  charcoal  and  stimulated  their  courage,  for 
it  was  well  known  that  Holcroft  was  anything  but  lamb-like 
when  angered. 

"He'll  be  like  a  bull  in  a  china  shop,"  remarked  Tim, 
"but  then  there's  enough  of  us  to  handle  him  if  he  gets  too 
obstrep'rous." 


A    CHARIVARI  231 

Armed  with  tin  pans  and  horns  which  were  to  furnish  the 
accompaniment  to  their  discordant  voices,  they  started  about 
eight  in  the  evening.  As  they  moved  up  the  road,  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  coarse  jesting  and  bravado,  but  when 
they  approached  the  farmhouse  silence  was  enjoined.  After 
passing  up  the  lane  they  looked  rather  nervously  at  the  quiet 
dwelling  softly  outlined  in  the  moonlight.  A  lamp  illumined 
the  kitchen  window,  and  Tim  Weeks  whispered  excitedly, 
"He's  there.  Let's  first  peek  in  the  window  and  then  give 
'em  a  scorcher." 

Knowing  that  they  should  have  the  coming  day  in  which 
to  rest,  Holcroft  and  Alida  had  busied  themselves  with  out- 
door matters  until  late.  She  had  been  planning  her  flower- 
beds, cutting  out  the  dead  wood  from  some  neglected  rose 
bushes  and  shrubbery,  and  had  also  helped  her  husband  by 
sowing  seed  in  the  kitchen  garden  back  of  the  house.  Then, 
weary,  yet  pleased  with  the  labor  accomplished,  they  made  a 
very  leisurely  supper,  talking  over  garden  matters  and  farm 
prospects  in  general.  Alida  had  all  her  flower  seeds  on  the 
table  beside  her  and  she  gloated  over  them  and  expatiated  on 
the  kind  of  blossoms  they  would  produce  with  so  much  zest 
that  Holcroft  laughingly  remarked,  "I  never  thought  that 
flowers  would  be  one  of  the  most  important  crops  on  the 
place." 

"You  will  think  so  some  day.  I  can  see  from  the  expres- 
sion "of  your  eyes  that  the  cherry  blossoms  and  now  the  apple 
blows  which  I  put  on  the  table  please  you  almost  as  much  as 
the  fruit  would." 

"Well,  it's  because  I  notice  'em.  I  never  seemed  to 
notice  'em  much  before." 

"Oh,  no,  it's  more  than  that,"  she  replied,  shaking  her 
head.  "Some  people  would  notice  them,  yet  never  see  how- 
pretty  they  were." 

"Then  they'd  be  blind  as  moles." 

"The  worst  kind  of  blindness  is  that  of  the  mind." 

"Well,  I  think  many  country  people  are  as  stupid  and 
blind  as  oxen,  and  I  was  one  of  'em.  I've  seen  more  cherry 


232  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

and  apple  blossoms  this  year  than  in  all  my  life  before,  and 
I  haven't  thought  only  of  cherries  and  apples  either." 

"The  habit  of  seeing  what  is  pretty  grows  on  one,"  she 
resumed.  "It  seems  to  me  that  flowers  and  such  things 
feed  mind  and  heart.  So  if  one  has  mind  and  heart,  flowers 
become  one  of  the  most  useful  crops.  Isn't  that  practical 
common  sense  ?" 

"Not  very  common  in  Oakville.  I'm  glad  you  think  I'm 
in  a  hopeful  frame  of  mind,  as  they  used  to  say  down  at  the 
rneeting-house.  Anyhow,  since  you  wish  it,  we  will  have 
a  flower  crop  as  well  as  a  potato  crop." 

Thus  they  continued  chatting  while  Alida  cleared  up  the 
table,  and  Holcroft,  having  lighted  his  pipe,  busied  himself 
with  peeling  a  long,  slim  hickory  sapling  intended  for  a  whip- 
stock. 

Having  finished  her  tasks,  Alida  was  finally  drying  her 
hands  on  a  towel  that  hung  near  a  window.  Suddenly  she 
caught  sight  of  a  dark  face  peering  in.  Her  startled  cry 
brought  Holcroft  hastily  to  his  feet.  "What's  the  matter  ?" 
he  asked. 

"I  saw — "  Then  she  hesitated  from  a  fear  that  he  would 
rush  into  some  unknown  danger. 

The  rough  crew  without  perceived  that  their  presence 
was  known,  and  Tim  Weeks  cried,  "!N\>w,  all  together." 

A  frightful  overture  began  at  once,  the  hooting  and  yell- 
ing almost  drowning  the  instrumental  part  and  sending  to 
Alida's  heart  that  awful  chill  of  fear  produced  by  human 
voices  in  any  mob-like  assemblage.  Holcroft  understood  the 
affair  at  once,  for  he  was  familiar  with  the  custom,  but  she 
did  not.  He  threw  open  the  door  with  the  purpose  of 
sternly  expostulating  with  the  disturbers  of  the  peace  and 
of  threatening  them  with  the  law  unless  they  retired.  With 
an  instinct  to  share  his  danger  she  stepped  to  his  side,  and 
this  brought  a  yell  of  derision.  Lurid  thoughts  swept 
through  her  mind.  She  had  brought  this  danger.  Her  story 
had  become  known.  What  might  they  do  to  Holcroft? 
Under  the  impulse  of  vague  terror  and  complete  self-sacri- 


A    CHARIVARI  233 

fice,  she  stepped  forward  and  cried,  "I  oniy  am  to  blame.  I 
will  go  away  forever  if  you  will  spare —  But  again  the 
scornful  clamor  rose  and  drowned  her  voice. 

Her  action  and  words  had  been  so  swift  that  Holcroft 
could  not  interfere,  but  in  an  instant  he  was  at  her  side,  his 
arm  around  her,  his  square  jaw  set,  and  his  eyes  blazing  with 
his  kindling  anger.  He  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  fume 
early  under  provocation  and  in  words  chiefly.  His  manner 
and  gesture  were  so  impressive  that  his  tormentors  paused  to 
listen. 

"I  know,"  he  said,  quietly,  "all  about  this  old,  rude  cus- 
tom— that  it's  often  little  more  than  a  rough  lark.  Well, 
now  that  you've  had  it,  leave  at  once.  I'm  in  no  mood 
for  such  attention  from  my  neighbors.  This  is  my  wife,  and 
I'll  break  any  man's  head  who  says  a  word  to  hurt  her  feel- 
ings— 

"Oh,  yes,  take  care  of  her  feelings,  now  it's  your  turn. 
They  must  'o  been  hurt  before,"  piped  up  Tim  Weeks. 

"Good  for  you,  old  man,  for  showin'  us  your  poorhouse 
bride,"  said  another. 

"We  don't  fancy  such  grass  widders,  and  much  married, 
half-married  women  in  Oakville,"  yelled  a  third. 

"Why  didn't  yer  jump  over  a  broomstick  for  a  weddin' 
ceremony  ?"  some  one  else  bawled. 

These  insults  were  fired  almost  in  a  volley.  Alida  felt 
Holcroft's  arm  grow  rigid  for  a  second.  "Go  in'  quick," 
he  said.  Then  she  saw  him  seize  the  hickory  sapling  he  had 
leaned  against  the  house,  and  burst  upon  the  group  like  a 
thunderbolt.  Cries  of  pain,  yells  and  oaths  of  rage  rose 
above  the  rain  of  blows.  The  older  members  of  the  crew 
sought  to  close  upon  him,  but  he  sprang  back,  and  the  tough 
sapling  swept  about  him  like  a  circle  of  light.  It  was  a  ter- 
rific weapon  in  the  hands  of  a  strong  man,  now  possessed 
of  almost  giant  strength  in  his  rage.  More  than  one  fellow 
went  down  under  its  stinging  cut,  and  heads  and  faces  were 
bleeding.  The  younger  portion  of  the  crowd  speedily  took 
to  their  heels,  and  soon  even  the  most  stubborn  fled,  the 


HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

farmer  vigorously  assisting  their  ignominious  retreat  with 
tremendous  downward  blows  on  any  within  reach.  Tim 
"Weeks  had  managed  to  keep  out  of  the  way  till  they  entered 
the  lane ;  then,  taking  a  small  stone  from  the  fence,  he  hurled 
it  at  their  pursuer  and  attempted  to  jump  over  the  wall. 
This  was  old,  and  gave  way  under  him  in  such  a  way  that  he 
fell  on  the  other  side.  Holcroft  leaped  the  fence  with  a 
bound,  but  Tim,  lying  on  his  back,  shrieked  and  held  up  his 
hands.  "You  won't  hit  a  feller  when  he's  down." 

"No,"  said  Holcroft,  arresting  his  hickory.  "I'll  send 
you  to  jail,  Tim  Weeks.  That  stone  you  fired  cut  my  head. 
Was  your  father  in  that  crowd  ?" 

"N-o-o,"  blubbered  Tim. 

"If  he  was,  I'd  follow  him  home,  and  whip  him  in  his  own 
house.  Now,  clear  out,  and  tell  the  rest  of  your  rowdy  crew 
that  I'll  shoot  the  first  one  of  you  that  disturbs  me  again. 
I'll  send  the  constable  for  you,  and  maybe  for  some  of  the 
others." 

Dire  was  the  dismay,  and  dreadful  the  groaning  in  Oak- 
ville  that  night.  Never  before  had  salves  and  poultices  been 
in  such  demand.  Not  a  few  would  be  disfigured  for  weeks, 
and  wherever  Holcroft's  blows  had  fallen  welts  rose  like 
whipcords.  In  Lemuel  Weeks's  dwelling  the  consternation 
reached  its  climax.  Tim,  bruised  from  his  fall,  limped  in 
and  told  his  portentous  story.  In  his  spite,  he  added,  "I 
don't  care,  I  hit  him  hard.  His  face  was  all  bloody." 

"All  bloody!"  groaned  his  father.  "Lord  a'  mercy! 
He  can  send  you  to  jail,  sure  enough !" 

Then  Mrs.  Weeks  sat  down  and  wailed  aloud. 


'YOU  DON'T  KNOW"  235 


CHAPTER    XXVI 
"YOU    DON'T    KNOW" 

AS  Timothy  Weeks  limped  hastily  away,  Holcroft,  with 
a  strong  revulsion  of  feeling,  thought  of  Alida.  He 
had  been  able  to  answer  insults  in  a  way  eminently 
satisfactory  to  himself,  and  every  blow  had  relieved  his  elec- 
trical condition.  But  how  about  the  poor  woman  who  had 
received  worse  blows  than  he  had  inflicted  ?  As  he  hastened 
toward  the  house  he  recalled  a  dim  impression  of  seeing  her 
sink  down  on  the  doorstep.  Then  he  remembered  her  effort 
to  face  the  marauders  alone.  "She  said  she  was  to  blame, 
poor  child !  as  if  there  were  any  blame  at  all !  She  said, 
'spare  him/  as  if  I  was  facing  a  band  of  murderers  instead 
of  a  lot  of  neighborhood  scamps,  and  that  she'd  go  away. 
I'd  fight  all  Oakville,  men,  women  and  children,  before  I'd 
permit  that,"  and  he  started  on  a  run. 

He  found  Alida  on  the  step  where  she  had  sunk  as  if 
struck  down  by  the  rough  epithets  hurled  at  her.  She  was 
sobbing  violently,  almost  hysterically,  and  at  first  could  not 
reply  to  his  soothing  words.  He  lifted  her  up,  and  half  car- 
ried her  within  to  a  chair.  "Oh,  oh,"  she  cried,  "why  did 
I  not  realize  it  more  fully  before  ?  Selfish  woman  that  I  was, 
to  marry  you  and  bring  on  you  all  this  shame  and  danger. 
I  should  have  thought  of  it  all,  I  ought  to  have  died  rather 
than  do  you  such  a  wrong." 

"Alida,  Alida,"  protested  Holcroft,  "if  it  were  all  to  do 
over  again,  I'd  be  a  thousand  times  more — " 

"Oh,  I  know,  I  know.  You  are  brave  and  generous  and 
honest.  I  saw  that  much  when  you  first  spoke  to  me.  I 
yielded  to  the  temptation  to  secure  such  a  friend ;  I  was  too 


236  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

cowardly  to  face  the  world  alone.  And  now  see  what's  hap- 
pened !  You're  in  danger  and  disgrace  on  my  account.  I 
must  go  away — I  must  do  what  I  should  have  done  at  first," 
and  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands  she  rocked  back  and 
forth  overwhelmed  by  the  bitterness  and  reproach  of  her 
thoughts. 

"Alida,"  he  urged,  "please  be  calm  and  sensible.  Let  me 
reason  with  you  and  tell  you  the  truth.  All  that's  happened 
is  that  the  Oakville  cubs  have  received  a  well-deserved  whip- 
ping. When  you  get  calm,  I  can  explain  everything  so  it 
won't  seem  half  so  bad.  Neither  you  nor  I  are  in  any 
danger,  and  as  for  your  going  away,  look  me  in  the  eyes  and 
listen." 

His  words  were  almost  stern  in  their  earnestness.  She 
raised  her  streaming  eyes  to  his  face,  then  sprang  up,  ex- 
claiming, "Oh !  you're  wounded !" 

"What's  that  compared  with  your  talk  of  going  away?" 

All  explanations  and  reassurances  would  have  been  trivial 
in  effect  compared  with  the  truth  that  he  had  been  hurt  in 
her  defence.  She  dashed  her  tears  right  and  left,  ran  for  a 
basin  of  water,  and  making  him  take  her  chair,  began  wash- 
ing away  the  blood  stains. 

"Thunder!"  he  said,  laughing,  "how  quickly  we've 
changed  places !" 

"Oh,  oh,"  she  moaned,  "it's  a  terrible  wound;  it  might 
have  killed  you,  and  they  will  kill  you  yet." 

He  took  her  hands  and  held  them  firmly.  "Alida,"  he 
said,  gravely  yet  kindly,  "be  still  and  listen  to  me." 

For  a  moment  or  two  longer,  her  bosom  heaved  with  con- 
vulsive sobs  and  then  she  grew  quiet.  "Don't  you  know  you 
can't  go  away  ?"  he  asked,  still  retaining  her  hands  and  look- 
ing in  her  face. 

"I  could  for  your  sake,"  she  began. 

"No,  it  wouldn't  be  for  my  sake.  I  don't  wish  you  to 
go,  and  wouldn't  let  you.  If  you  should  let  the  Oakville 
rabble  drive  you  away  I  would  be  in  danger,  and  so  would 
others,  for  I'd  be  worse  on  'em  than  an  earthquake.  After 


"FOC7    DON'T   KNOW'1  237 

the  lesson  they've  had  to-night,  they'll  let  us  alone,  and  I'll 
let  them  alone.  You  know  I've  tried  to  be  honest  with  you 
from  the  first.  Believe  me,  then,  the  trouble's  over,  unless 
we  make  more  for  ourselves.  Now,  promise  you'll  do  as  I 
say  and  let  me  manage." 

"I'll  try,"  she  breathed  softly. 

"No,  no,  that  won't  do.  I'm  beginning  to  find  you  out. 
You  may  get  some  foolish,  self-sacrificing  notion  in  your  head 
that  it  would  be  best  for  me,  when  it  would  be  my  ruination. 
Will  you  promise  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Famous !  Now  you  can  bathe  my  head  all  you  please, 
for  it  feels  a  little  queer." 

"It's  an  awful  wound,"  she  said  in  tones  of  the  deepest 
sympathy.  "Oh!  I'm  so  sorry." 

"Pshaw!  my  head  is  too  hard  for  that  little  scamp  of  a 
Weeks  to  break.  His  turn'll  come  next." 

She  cut  away  the  blood-clotted  hair  and  bound  up  the 
rather  severe  scalp  wound  with,  a  tenderness  and  sympathy 
that  expressed  itself  even  in  her  touch.  She  was  too  con- 
fused and  excited  to  be  conscious  of  herself,  but  she  had 
received  some  tremendously  strong  impressions.  Chief 
among  them  was  the  truth  that  nothing  which  had  happened 
made  any  difference  in  him — that  he  was  still  the  same  loyal 
friend,  standing  between  her  and  the  world  she  dreaded — 
yes,  between  her  and  her  own  impulses  toward  self-sacrifice. 
Sweetest  of  all  was  the  assurance  that  he  did  this  for  his 
own  sake  as  well  as  hers.  These  facts  seemed  like  a  foothold 
in  the  mad  torrent  of  feeling  and  shame  which  had  been 
sweeping  her  away.  She  could  think  of  little  more  than  that 
she  was  safe — safe  because  he  was  brave  and  loyal,  and  yes, 
safe  because  he  wanted  her  and  would  not  give  her  up.  The 
heart  of  a  woman  must  be  callous  indeed,  and  her  nature  not 
only  trivial,  but  stony,  if  she  is  not  deeply  touched  under 
circumstances  like  these. 

In  spite  of  his  laughing  contempt  of  danger,  she  trembled 
as  she  saw  him  ready  to  go  out  again;  she  wished  to  accom- 


238  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

pany  him  on  his  round  of  observation,  but  he  scouted  the 
idea,  although  it  pleased  him.  Standing  in  the  door,  she 
strained  her  eyes  and  listened  breathlessly.  He  soon  re- 
turned and  said,  "They've  all  had  enough.  We  won't  be 
disturbed  again." 

He  saw  that  her  nerves  needed  quieting,  and  he  set  about 
the  task  with  such  simple  tact  as  he  possessed.  His  first 
step  was  to  light  his  pipe  in  the  most  nonchalant  manner, 
and  then  he  burst  out  laughing.  "I'll  hang  that  hickory  up. 
It  has  done  too  good  service  to  be  put  to  common  use  again. 
Probably  you  never  heard  of  a  skimelton,  Alida.  Well,  they 
are  not  so  uncommon  in  this  region.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
own  up  to  taking  part  in  one  myself  when  I  was  a  young 
chap.  They  usually  are  only  rough  larks  and  are  taken 
good-naturedly.  I'm  not  on  jesting  terms  with  my  neigh- 
bors and  they  had  no  business  to  come  here,  but  I  wouldn't 
have  made  any  row  if  they  hadn't  insulted  you." 

Her  head  bowed  very  low  as  she  faltered,  "They've  heard 
everything." 

He  came  right  to  her  and  took  her  hand.  "Didn't  I  hear 
everything  before  they  did  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Alida,  I'm  not  only  satisfied  with  you,  but  I'm 
very  grateful  to  you.  Why  shouldn't  I  be,  when  you  are  a 
good,  Christian  woman?  I  guess  I'm  the  one  to  be  suited, 
not  Oakville.  I  should  be  as  reckless  as  the  devil  if  you 
should  go  away  from  me.  Don't  I  act  like  a  man  who's  ready 
to  stand  up  for  and  protect  you  ?" 

"Yes,  too  ready.  It  would  kill  me  if  anything  happened 
to  you  on  my  account." 

"Well,  the  worst  would  happen,"  he  said,  firmly,  "if  we 
don't  go  right  on  as  we've  begun.  If  we  go  quietly  on  about 
our  own  affairs,  we'll  soon  be  let  alone  and  that's  all  we  ask." 

"Yes,  yes  indeed.  Don't  worry,  James.  I'll  do  as  you 
wish." 

"Famous !  You  never  said  'James'  to  me  before.  Why 
haven't  you  ?" 


"YOU    DON'T  KNOW"  239 

"I  don't  know,"  she  faltered,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  color 
to  her  pale  face. 

"Well,  that's  my  name,"  he  resumed,  laughing.  "I  guess 
it's  because  we  are  getting  better  acquainted." 

She  looked  up  and  said,  impetuously,  "You  don't  know 
how  a  woman  feels  when  a  man  stands  up  for  her  as  you  did 
to-night." 

"Well,  I  know  how  a  man  feels  when  there  is  a  woman 
so  well  worth  standing  up  for.  It  was  a  lucky  thing  that  I 
had  nothing  heavier  in  my  hand  than  that  hickory."  All 
the  while  he  was  looking  at  her  curiously ;  then  he  spoke  his 
thought,  "You're  a  quiet  little  woman,  Alida,  most  times, 
but  you're  capable  of  a  thunder-gust  now  and  then." 

"I'll  try  to  be  quiet  at  all  times,"  she  replied,  with  droop- 
ing eyes. 

Oh,  I'm  not  complaining,"  he  said,  laughing;  "I  like 
the  trait." 

He  took  a  small  pitcher  and  went  to  the  dairy.  Return- 
ing, he  poured  out  two  glasses  of  milk  and  said,  "Here's  to 
your  health  and  happiness,  Alida;  and  when  I  don't  stand 
up  for  the  woman  who  started  out  to  save  me  from  a  mob 
of  murderers,  may  the  next  thing  I  eat  or  drink  choke  me. 
You  didn't  know  they  were  merely  a  lot  of  Oakville  boys, 
did  you  ?" 

"You  can't  make  so  light  of  it,"  said  she.  "They  tried 
to  close  on  you,  and  if  that  stone  had  struck  you  on  the  tem- 
ple, it  might  have  killed  you.  They  swore  like  pirates,  and 
looked  like  ruffians  with  their  blackened  faces.  They 
certainly  were  not  boys  in  appearance." 

"I'm  afraid  I  swore  too,"  he  said,  sadly. 

"You  had  some  excuse,  but  I'm  sorry.  They  would  have 
hurt  you  if  you  hadn't  kept  them  off." 

"Yes,  they'd  probably  given  me  a  beating.  People  do 
things  in  hot  blood  they  wish  they  hadn't  afterwards.  I 
know  this  Oakville  rough-scuff.  Since  we've  had  it  out,  and 
they  know  what  to  expect,  they'll  give  me  a  wide  berth.  Now 
go  and  sleep.  You  were  never  safer  in  your  life." 


240  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

She  did  not  trust  herself  to  reply,  but  the  glance  she  gave 
him  from  her  tearful  eyes  was  so  eloquent  with  grateful  feel- 
ing that  he  was  suddenly  conscious  of  some  unwonted  sensa- 
tions. He  again  patrolled  the  place  and  tied  the  dog  near 
the  barn. 

"It's  barely  possible  that  some  of  these  mean  cusses  might 
venture  to  kindle  a  fire,  but  a  bark  from  Towser  will  warn 
'em  off.  She  is  a  spirited  little  woman,"  he  added,  with 
a  sharp  change  in  soliloquy.  "There's  nothing  milk  and 
water  about  her.  Thunder !  I  felt  like  kissing  her  when  she 
looked  at  me  so.  I  guess  that  crack  on  my  skull  has  made 
me  a  little  light-headed." 

He  lay  down  in  his  clothes  so  that  he  might  rush  out  in 
case  of  alarm,  and  he  intended  to  keep  awake.  Then,  the 
first  thing  he  knew,  the  sun  was  shining  in  the  windows. 

It  was  long  before  Alida  slept,  and  the  burden  of  her 
thoughts  confirmed  the  words  that  she  had  spoken  so  in- 
voluntarily. "You  don't  know  how  a  woman  feels  when  a 
man  stands  up  for  her  as  you  did."  It  is  the  nature  of  her 
sex  to  adore  hardy,  courageous  manhood.  Beyond  all  power 
of  expression,  Alida  felt  her  need  of  a  champion  and  pro- 
tector. She  was  capable  of  going  away  for  his  sake,  but  she 
would  go  in  terror  and  despair.  The  words  that  had  smitten 
her  confirmed  all  her  old  fears  of  facing  the  world  alone. 
Then  came  the  overpowering  thought  of  his  loyalty  and 
kindness,  of  his  utter  and  almost  fierce  repugnance  to  the 
idea  of  her  leaving  him.  In  contrast  with  the  man  who  had 
deceived  and  wronged  her,  Holcroft's  course  overwhelmed 
her  very  soul  with  a  passion  of  grateful  affection.  A  new 
emotion,  unlike  anything  she  had  ever  known,  thrilled  her 
heart  and  covered  her  face  with  blushes.  "I  could  die  for 
him,"  she  murmured. 

She  awoke  late  in  the  morning.  When  at  last  she  entered 
the  kitchen  she  stopped  in  deep  chagrin,  for  Holcroft  had 
almost  completed  preparations  for  breakfast.  "Ha,  ha!"  he 
laughed,  "turn  about  is  fair  play." 


"  YOU   DON'T  KNOW"  241 

"Well,"  she  sighed,  "there's  no  use  of  making  excuses 
now." 

"There's  no  occasion  for  any.  Did  you  ever  see  such  a 
looking  case  as  I  am  with  this  bandage  around  my  head  ?" 

"Does  it  pain  you  ?"  she  asked,  sympathetically. 

"Well,  it  does.     It  pains  like  thunder." 

"The  wound  needs  dressing  again.  Let  me  cleanse  and 
bind  it  up." 

"Yes,  after  breakfast." 

"No,  indeed,  now.  I  couldn't  eat  my  breakfast  while  you 
were  suffering  so." 

"I'm  more  unfeeling  then  than  you  are,  for  I  could." 

She  insisted  on  having  her  way,  and  then  tore  up  her 
handkerchief  to  supply  a  soft  linen  bandage. 

"You're  extravagant,  Alida,"  but  she  only  shook  her 
head. 

"Famous!  That  feels  better.  What  a  touch  you  have! 
Now  if  you  had  a  broken  head  my  fingers  would  be  like  a 
pair  of  tongs." 

She  only  shook  her  head  and  smiled. 

"You're  as  bad  as  Jane  used  to  be.  She  never  said  a 
word  when  she  could  shake  or  nod  her  meaning." 

"I  should  think  you  would  be  glad,  after  having  been  half 
talked  to  death  by  her  mother." 

"As  I  said  before,  take  your  own  way  of  doing  things.  It 
seems  the  right  way  after  it  is  done." 

A  faint  color  came  into  her  face  and  she  looked  positively 
happy  as  she  sat  down  to  breakfast.  "Are  you  sure  your 
head  feels  better  ?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  and  you  look  a  hundred  per  cent  better.  Well,  I 
am  glad  you  had  such  a  good  sleep  after  all  the  hubbub." 

"I  didn't  sleep  till  toward  morning,"  she  said,  with  down- 
cast eyes. 

"Pshaw!  that's  too  bad.  Well,  no  matter,  you  look  like 
a  different  person  from  what  you  did  when  I  first  saw  you. 
You've  been  growing  younger  every  day." 

Her  face  flushed  like  a  girl's  under  his  direct,  admiring 
R— K.— XVin 


242  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

gaze,  making  her  all  the  more  pretty.  She  hastened  to  divert 
direct  attention  from  herself  by  asking,  "You  haven't  heard 
from  any  one  this  morning  ?" 

"No,  but  I  guess  the  doctor  has.  Some  of  those  fellows 
will  have  to  keep  shady  for  a  while." 

As  they  were  finishing  breakfast,  Holcroft  looked  out  of 
the  open  kitchen  door  and  exclaimed,  "By  thunder!  we're 
going  to  hear  from  some  of  them  now.  Here  comes  Mrs. 
Weeks,  the  mother  of  the  fellow  who  hit  me." 

"Won't  you  please  receive  her  in  the  parlor  ?" 

"Yes,  she  won't  stay  long,  you  may  be  sure.  I'm  going 
to  give  that  Weeks  tribe  one  lesson  and  pay  off  the  whole 
score." 

He  merely  bowed  coldly  to  Mrs.  Weeks's  salutation  and 
offered  her  a  chair.  The  poor  woman  took  eut  her  handker- 
chief and  began  to  mop  her  eyes,  but  Holcroft  was  steeled 
against  her,  not  so  much  on  account  of  the  wound  inflicted 
by  her  son  as  for  the  reason  that  he  saw  in  her  an  accomplice 
with  her  husband  in  the  fraud  of  Mrs.  Mumpson. 

"I  hope  you're  not  badly  hurt,"  she  began. 

"It  might  be  worse." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Holcroft,"  she  broke  out  sobbingly,  "spare  my 
son.  It  would  kill  me  if  you  sent  him  to  prison." 

"He  took  the  chance  of  killing  me  last  night,"  was  the 
cold  reply.  "What's  far  worse,  he  insulted  my  wife." 

Oh,  Mr.  Holcroft,  he  was  young  and  foolish,  he  didn't 
realize — " 

"Were  you  and  your  husband  young  and  foolish,"  he 
interrupted  bitterly,  "when  you  gulled  me  into  employing 
that  crazy  cousin  of  yours  ?" 

This  retort  was  so  overwhelming  that  Mrs.  Weeks  sobbed 
speechlessly. 

Alida  could  not  help  overhearing  the  conversation,  and  she 
now  glided  into  the  room,  and  stood  by  her  husband's  side. 

"James,"  she  said,  "won't  you  do  me  a  favor,  a  great 
kindness  ?" 

Mrs.   Weeks   raised  her   eyes  and  looked   wonderingly 


"YOU  DON'T  KNOW"  243 

at  this  dreadful  woman,  against  whom  all  Oakville  was 
talking. 

"I  know  what  you  wish,  Alida,"  he  replied,  sternly,  "but 
I  can't  do  it.  This  is  a  case  for  justice.  This  woman's  son 
was  the  leader  of  that  vile  crowd  that  insulted  you  last  night. 
I  can  forgive  his  injuring  me,  but  not  the  words  he  used 
about  you.  Moreover,  when  I  was  alone  and  struggling  to 
keep  my  home,  Mrs.  Weeks  took  part  with  her  husband  in 
imposing  on  me  their  fraud  of  a  cousin  and  in  tricking  me 
out  of  honest  money.  Any  woman  with  a  heart  in  her  breast 
would  have  tried  to  help  a  man  situated  as  I  was.  No,  it's 
a  clear  case  of  justice,  and  her  son  shall  go  to  jail." 

Mrs.  Weeks  wailed  afresh  at  this  final  sentence.  Holcroft 
was  amazed  to  see  his  wife  drop  on  her  knees  beside  his  chair. 
He  raised  her  instantly.  "Don't  do  such  a  thing  as  that," 
he  said,  huskily. 

Without  removing  her  pleading  eyes  from  his  face  she 
asked,  gently,  "Who  told  us  to  forgive  as  we  would  be  for- 
given ?  James,  I  shall  be  very  unhappy  if  you  don't  grant 
this  mother's  prayer." 

He  tried  to  turn  away,  but  she  caught  his  hand  and  held 
his  eyes  with  hers.  "Alida,"  he  said,  in  strong  agitation, 
"you  heard  the  vile,  false  words  that  Timothy  Weeks  said 
last  night.  They  struck  you  down  like  a  blow.  Can  you 
forgive  him  ?" 

"Yes,  and  I  plead  with  you  to  forgive  him.  Grant  me 
my  wish,  James;  I  shall  be  so  much,  happier  and  so  will 

you." 

Well,  Mrs.  Weeks,  now  you  know  what  kind  of  a 
woman  your  son  came  to  insult.  You  may  tell  your  neigh- 
bors that  there's  one  Christian  in  Oakville.  I  yield  to  Mrs. 
Holcroft  and  will  take  no  further  action  in  the  affair  if  we 
are  let  alone." 

Mrs.  Weeks  was  not  a  bad  woman  at  heart,  and  she  had 
received  a  wholesome  lesson.  She  came  and  took  Alida's 
hand  as  she  said,  "Yes,  you  are  a  Christian — a  better  woman 
than  I've  been,  but  I  ain't  so  mean  and  bad  but  what,  when 


244  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

I  see  my  fault,  I  am  sorry  and  can  ask  forgiveness. — I  do 
ask  your  forgiveness,  Mr.  Holcroft.  I've  been  ashamed  of 
myself  ever  since  you  brought  my  cousin  back.  I  thought 
she  would  try,  when  she  had  the  chance  you  gave  her,  but  she 
seems  to  have  no  sense." 

"There,  there,  let  bygones  be  bygones,"  said  the  farmer 
in  embarrassment.  "I've  surrendered.  Please  don't  say 
anything  more." 

"You've  got  a  kind  heart  in  spite — " 

"Oh,  come  now,  please  quit,  or  I'll  begin  to  swear  a  little 
to  keep  up  the  reputation  my  neighbors  have  given  me.  Go 
home  and  tell  Tim  to  brace  up  and  try  to  be  a  man.  When 
I  say  I'm  done  with  a  grudge,  I  am  done.  You  and  Mrs. 
Holcroft  can  talk  all  you  like,  but  please  excuse  me,"  and 
with  more  than  most  men's  horror  of  a  scene,  he  escaped 
precipitately. 

"Sit  down,  Mrs.  Weeks,"  said  Alida,  kindly. 

"Well,  I  will.  I  can't  say  much  to  excuse  myself  or  my 
folks—" 

"You've  already  said  everything,  Mrs.  Weeks,"  inter- 
rupted Alida,  gently,  "you've  said  you  are  sorry." 

Mrs.  Weeks  stared  a  moment,  and  then  resumed,  senten- 
tiously,  "Well,  I've  heard  more  gospel  in  that  remark  than 
if  I'd  gone  to  church.  And  I  couldn't  go  to  church,  I  could 
never  have  gone  there  again  or  held  my  head  up  anywhere 
if— if— " 

"That's  all  past  and  gone,"  said  Alida,  smiling.  "When 
Mr.  Holcroft  says  anything,  you  may  depend  on  it." 

"Well,  God  bless  you  for  intercedin' — you  had  so  much 
to  forgive.  Nobody  shall  ever  speak  a  word  against  you 
again  while  I've  got  breath  to  answer.  I  wish  you'd  let  me 
come  and  see  you  sometimes." 

"Whenever  you  wish,  if  you  care  to  visit  one  who  has  had 
so  much — so  much  trouble." 

"I  see  now  that's  all  the  more  reason  I  should  come,  for 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  I'd  have  been  in  bitter  trouble 
myself.  We've  been  worse  than  heathen,  standin'  off  and 


"YOU   DON'T  KNOW"  245 

talking  against  you.  Oh,  I've  had  a  lesson  I  won't  forget. 
Well,  I  must  hurry  home,  for  I  left  Timothy  and  Lemuel  in 
a  dreadful  state." 

Seeing  the  farmer  in  the  barn  as  she  was  passing,  she 
rushed  to  him.  "You've  got  to  shake  hands  with  me,  Mr. 
Holcroft.  Your  wife  is  a  good  woman,  and  she's  a  lady, 
too.  Any  one  with  half  an  eye  can  see  she's  not  one  of  the 
common  sort." 

The  farmer  shook  the  poor  woman's  hand  good-naturedly 
and  said  heartily,  "That's  so.  All  right.  Meeting's  over. 
Good-by."  Then  he  turned  to  his  work  and  chuckled,  "That's 
what  Tom  Watterly  said.  Thank  the  Lord !  she  isn't  of  the 
common  sort.  I've  got  to  brace  up  and  be  more  of  a  man  as 
well  as  Tim  Weeks." 

In  spite  of  the  pain  in  his  head,  Alida's  words  proved 
true.  He  was  happier  than  he  had  been  in  many  a  long  day. 
He  had  the  glow  which  follows  a  generous  act,  and  the 
thought  that  he  had  pleased  a  sweet  little  woman  who  some- 
how seemed  very  attractive  to  him  that  May  morning ;  at  the 
same  time  the  old  Adam  in  his  nature  led  to  a  sneaking  satis- 
faction that  he  had  laid  on  the  hickory  so  unsparingly  the 
evening  before. 

Alida  uttered  a  low,  happy  laugh  as  she  heard  him  whis- 
tling "Coronation"  in  jig  time,  and  she  hustled  away  the 
breakfast  things  with  the  eagerness  of  a  girl,  that  she  might 
be  ready  to  read  to  him  when  he  came  in. 


246  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER    XXVII 

FARM    AND    FARMER    BEWITCHED 

THE  day  grew  warm,  and  having  finished  her  tasks  in- 
doors and  cared  for  the  poultry,  Alida  brought  a 
chair  out  in  the  porch.  Her  eyes  were  dreamy  with 
a  vague,  undefined  happiness.  The  landscape  in  itself  was 
cause  for  exquisite  pleasure,  for  it  was  an  ideal  day  of  the 
apple-blossoming  period.  The  old  orchard  back  of  the  barn 
looked  as  if  pink  and  white  clouds  had  settled  upon  it,  and 
scattered  trees  near  and  far  were  exhaling  their  fragrance. 
The  light  breeze  which  fanned  her  cheek  and  bent  the  grow- 
ing rye  in  an  adjacent  field  was  perfumed  beyond  the  skill 
of  art.  !Not  only  were  her  favorite  meadow-larks  calling  to 
each  other,  but  the  thrushes  had  come  and  she  felt  that  she 
had  never  heard  such  hymn  a  as  they  were  singing.  A  burst 
of  song  from  the  lilac  bush  under  the  parlor  window  drew  her 
eyes  thither,  and  there  was  the  paternal  redbreast  pouring 
out  the  very  soul  of  ecstasy.  From  the  nest  beneath  him  rose 
the  black  head  and  yellow  beak  of  his  brooding  mate.  "How 
contented  and  happy  she  looks!"  Alida  murmured,  "how 
happy  they  both  are !  and  the  secret  of  it  is,  home.  And  to 
think  that  I,  who  was  a  friendless  waif,  am  at  home,  also! 
At  home  with  Eden-like  beauty  and  peace  before  my  eyes. 
But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him,  and  if  he  were  not  brave,  kind 
and  true  to  all  he  says — "  and  she  shuddered  at  a  contrast 
that  rose  before  her  fancy. 

She  could  now  scarcely  satisfy  herself  that  it  was  only 
gratitude  which  filled  her  heart  with  a  strange,  happy  tumult. 
She  had  never  been  conscious  of  such  exaltation  before.  It 


FARM  AND    FARMER   BEWITCHED  247 

is  true,  she  had  learned  to  cherish  a  strong  affection  for  the 
man  whom  she  had  believed  to  be  her  husband,  but  chiefly 
because  he  had  seemed  kind  and  she  had  an  affectionate  dis- 
position. Until  within  the  last  few  hours,  her  nature  had 
never  been  touched  and  awakened  in  its  profoundest  depths. 
She  had  never  known  before  nor  had  she  idealized  the  man- 
hood capable  of  evoking  the  feelings  which  now  lightened  her 
eyes  and  gave  to  her  face  the  supreme  charm  and  beauty  of 
womanhood.  In  truth,  it  was  a  fitting  day  and  time  for  the 
birth  of  a  love  like  hers,  simple,  all-absorbing  and  grateful. 
It  contained  no  element  not  in  harmony  with  that  May 
Sunday  morning. 

Holcroft  came  and  sat  on  the  steps  below  her.  She  kept 
her  eyes  on  the  landscape,  for  she  was  consciously  enough  on 
her  guard  now.  "I  rather  guess  you  think,  Alida,  that  you 
are  looking  at  a  better  picture  than  any  artist  fellow  could 
paint?"  he  remarked. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  hesitatingly,  "and  the  picture  seems 
all  the  more  lovely  and  full  of  light  because  the  background 
is  so  very  dark.  I've  been  thinking  of  what  happened  here 
last  night  and  what  might  have  happened,  and  how  I  felt 
then." 

"You  feel  better — different  now,  don't  you?  You  cer- 
tainly look  so." 

"Yes,  you  made  me  very  happy  by  yielding  to  Mrs. 
Weeks." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  yield  to  her  at  all" 

"Very  well,  have  it  your  own  way  then." 

"I  think  you  had  it  your  way." 

"Are  you  sorry  ?" 

"Do  I  look  so  ?  How  did  you  know  I'd  be  happier  if  I 
gave  in  ?" 

"Because,  as  you  say,  I'm  getting  better  acquainted  with 
you.  You  couldn't  help  being  happier  for  a  generous  act." 

"I  wouldn't  have  done  it,  though,  if  it  hadn't  been  for 


you." 


"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that" 


24:8  HE  FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"I  am.  You're  coming  to  make  me  feel  confoundedly 
uncomfortable  in  my  heathenish  life." 

"I  wish  I  could." 

"I  never  had  such  a  sermon  in  my  Hfe  as  you  gave  me 
this  morning.  A  Christian  act  like  yours  is  worth  a  year 
of  religious  talk." 

She  looked  at  him  wistfully  for  a  moment  and  then  asked, 
a  little  abruptly,  "Mr.  Holcroft,  have  you  truly  forgiven  that 
Weeks  family  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  I've  forgiven  the  old  lady,  any- 
how. I've  shaken  hands  with  her." 

"If  her  husband  and  son  should  come  and  apologize  and 
say  they  were  sorry,  would  you  truly  and  honestly  forgive 
them  ?" 

"Certainly.  I  couldn't  hold  a  grudge  after  that.  What 
are  you  aiming  at?"  and  he  turned  and  looked  inquiringly 
into  her  face. 

It  was  flushed  and  tearful  in  its  eager,  earnest  interest. 
"Don't  you  see  ?"  she  faltered. 

He  shook  his  head,  but  was  suddenly  and  strangely  moved 
by  her  expression. 

"Why,  Mr.  Holcroft,  if  you  can  honestly  forgive  those 
who  have  wronged  you,  you  ought  to  see  how  ready  God  is 
to  forgive." 

He  fairly  started  to  his  feet,  so  vividly  the  truth  came 
home  to  him,  illumined,  as  it  was,  by  a  recent  and  personal 
experience.  After  a  moment,  he  slowly  sat  down  again  and 
said,  with  a  long  breath,  "That  was  a  close  shot,  Alida." 

"I  only  wish  you  to  have  the  trust  and  comfort  which  this 
truth  should  bring  you,"  she  said.  "It  seems  a  pity  you 
should  do  yourself  needless  injustice  when  you  are  willing 
to  do  what  is  right  and  kind  by  others." 

"It's  all  a  terrible  muddle,  Alida.  If  God  is  so  ready  to 
forgive,  how  do  you  account  for  all  the  evil  and  suffering 
in  the  world  F 

"I  don't  account  for  it  and  can't.  I'm  only  one  of  his 
little  children,  often  an  erring  one,  too.  You've  been  able  to 


FARM   AND   FARMER    BEWITCHED  249 

forgive  grown  people,  your  equals,  and  strangers  in  a  sense. 
Suppose  you  had  a  little  boy  that  had  done  wrong,  but  said 
he  was  sorry,  would  you  hold  a  grudge  against  him  ?" 

"The  idea!     I'd  be  a  brute." 

She  laughed  softly  as  she  asked  again,  "Don't  you  see?" 

He  sat  looking  thoughtfully  away  across  the  fields  for  a 
long  time,  and  finally  asked,  "Is  your  idea  of  becoming  a 
Christian  just  being  forgiven  like  a  child  and  then  trying  to 
do  right  ?" 

"Yes.     Why  not?" 

"Well,"  he  remarked,  with  a  grim  laugh,  "I  didn't  expect 
to  be  cornered  in  this  way." 

"You  who  are  truthful  should  face  the  truth.  It  would 
make  you  happier.  A  good  deal  that  was  unexpected  has 
happened.  When  I  look  out  on  a  scene  like  this  and  think 
that  I  am  safe  and  at  home,  I  feel  that  God  has  been  very 
good  to  me  and  that  you  have,  too.  I  can't  bear  to  think 
that  you  have  that  old  trouble  on.  your  mind — the  feeling 
that  you  had  been  a  Christian  once,  but  was  not  one  now. 
Being  sure  that  there  is  no  need  of  your  continuing  to  feel  so, 
what  sort  of  return  would  I  be  making  for  all  your  kindness 
if  I  did  not  try  to  show  you  what  is  as  clear  to  me  as  this 
sunshine  ?" 

"You  are  a  good  woman,  Alida.  Believing  as  you  do, 
you  have  done  right  to  speak  to  me,  and  I  never  believed  mor- 
tal lips  could  speak  so  to  the  purpose.  I  shall  think  of  what 
you  have  said,  for  you  have  put  things  in  a  new  light.  But 
say,  Alida,  what  on  earth  possesses  you  to  call  me  'Mr.'  ? 
You  said  James  easy  enough  after  the  skimelton  was  over 
and  when  old  lady  Weeks  was  begging  Tim  off.  You  don't 
need  to  be  scared  half  to  death  every  time  to  call  me  by  my 
first  name,  do  you  ?" 

"Scared  ?  Oh,  no."  She  was  a  trifle  confused,  he  thought, 
but  then  her  tone  was  completely  reassuring. 

The  day  was  one  long  remembered  by  both.  As  in  nature 
about  them,  the  conditions  of  development  and  rapid  change 
now  existed.  She  did  not  read  aloud  very  much,  and  long 


250  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

silences  fell  between  them.  They  were  reaching  a  higher 
plane  of  companionship,  in  which  words  are  not  always  essen- 
tial. Both  had  much  to  think  about,  and  their  thoughts  were 
like  roots  which  prepare  for  blossom  and  fruit. 

With  Monday,  busy  life  was  resumed.  The  farmer  began 
planting  his  corn  and  Alida  her  flower  seeds.  Almost  every 
day  now  added  to  the  brood  of  little  chicks  under  her  care. 
The  cows  went  out  to  pasture,  Holcroft  brought  in  an  in- 
creasing number  of  overflowing  pails  of  milk,  and  if  the 
labors  of  the  dairy  grew  more  exacting,  they  also  grew  more 
profitable.  The  tide  had  turned;  income  was  larger  than 
outgo,  and  it  truly  seemed  to  the  long-harassed  man  that  an 
era  of  peace  and  prosperity  had  set  in. 

To  a  superficial  observer  things  might  have  appeared  to 
be  going  on  much  as  before,  but  there  were  influences  at 
work  which  Holcroft  did  not  clearly  comprehend. 

As  Alida  had  promised  herself,  she  spent  all  the  money 
which  the  eggs  brought  in,  but  Holcroft  found  pretty  mus- 
lin curtains  at  the  parlor  windows,  and  shades  which  ex- 
cluded the  glare  from  the  kitchen.  •  Better  china  took  the 
place  of  that  which  was  cracked  and  unsightly.  In  brief,  a 
subtile  and  refining  touch  was  apparent  all  over  the  house. 

"How  fine  we  are  getting !"  he  remarked  one  evening  at 
supper. 

"I've  only  made  a  beginning,"  she  replied,  nodding  de- 
fiantly at  him.  "The  chickens  will  paint  the  house  before 
the  year  is  over." 

"Phew!  when  do  the  silk  dresses  come  in?" 

"When  your  broadcloth  does." 

"Well,  if  this  goes  on,  I  shall  certainly  have  to  wear  pur- 
ple and  fine  linen  to  keep  pace." 

"Fine  linen  certainly.  When  you  take  the  next  lot  of 
eggs  to  town  I  shall  tell  you  just  the  number  of  yards  I  need 
to  make  half  a  dozen  extra  fine  shirts.  Those  you  have  are 
getting  past  mending." 

"Do  you  think  I'll  let  you  spend  your  money  in  that 
way  ?" 


FARM   AND   FARMER   BEWITCHED  251 

"You'll  let  me  spend  my  money  just  as  I  please — in  the 
way  that  will  do  me  the  most  good !" 

"What  a  saucy  little  woman  you  are  becoming !"  he  said, 
looking  at  her  so  fondly  that  she  quickly  averted  her  eyes. 

"It's  a  way  people  fall  into  when  humored,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"See  here,  Alida,  you're  up  to  some  magic.  It  seems 
but  the  other  day  I  brought  you  here,  a  pale  ghost  of  a 
woman.  As  old  Jonathan  Johnson  said,  you  were  'en'j'yin' 
poor  health.'  Do  you  know  what  he  said  when  I  took  him 
off  so  he  wouldn't  put  you  through  the  catechism?" 

"No,"  she  replied,  with  a  deprecating  smile  and  rising 
color. 

"He  said  he  was  'afeared  I'd  been  taken  in,  you  were 
such  a  sickly  lookin'  critter.'  Ha !  ha !  Wish  he  might  see 
you  now,  with  that  flushed  face  of  yours.  I  never  believed 
in  magic,  but  I'll  have  to  come  to  it.  You  are  bewitched, 
and  are  being  transformed  into  a  pretty  young  girl  right 
under  my  eyes;  the  house  is  bewitched,  and  is  growing 
pretty,  too,  and  pleasanter  all  the  time.  The  cherry  and 
apple  trees  are  bewitched,  for  they  never  blossomed  so  be- 
fore ;  the  hens  are  bewitched,  they  lay  as  if  possessed ;  the — " 

"Oh,  stop,  or  I  shall  think  that  you're  bewitched  your- 
self." 

(CI  truly  begin  to  think  I  am." 

"Oh,  well,  since  we  all  and  everything  are  affected  in  the 
same  way,  it  don't  matter." 

"But  it  does.  It's  unaccountable.  I'm  beginning  to  rub 
my  eyes  and  pinch  myself  to  wake  up." 

"If  you  like  it,  I  wouldn't  wake  up." 

"Suppose  I  did,  and  saw  Mrs.  Mumpson  sitting  where 
you  do,  Jane  here,  and  Mrs.  Wiggins  smoking  her  pipe  in 
the  corner.  The  very  thought  makes  me  shiver.  My  fir3t 
words  would  be,  'Please  pass  the  cold  p'ison.' ' 

"What  nonsense  you  are  talking  to-night!"  she  tried  to 
say  severely,  but  the  pleased,  happy  look  in  her  eyes  be- 
trayed her.  He  regarded  her  with  the  open  admiration  of  a 


252  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE   WITH  HIS    WIFE 

boy,  and  she  sought  to  divert  his  attention  by  asking,  "What 
do  you  think  has  become  of  Jane  ?" 

"I  don't  know — stealing  around  like  a  strange  cat  in 
some  relation's  house,  I  suppose." 

"You  once  said  you  would  like  to  do  something  for  her." 

"Well,  I  would.  If  I  could  afford  it  I'd  like  to  send  her 
to  school." 

"Would  you  like  her  to  come  here  and  study  lessons  part 
of  the  time  ?" 

He  shivered  visibly.  "No,  Alida,  and  you  wouldn't 
either.  She'd  make  you  more  nervous  than  she  would  me, 
and  that's  saying  a  good  deal.  I  do  feel  very  sorry  for  her, 
and  if  Mrs.  Weeks  comes  to  see  you,  we'll  find  out  if  some- 
thing can't  be  done,  but  her  presence  would  spoil  all  our 
co«^y  comfort.  The  fact  is,  I  wouldn't  enjoy  having  any 
one  here.  You  and  I  are  just  about  company  enough.  Still, 
if  you  feel  that  you'd  like  to  have  some  help — " 

"Oh,  no,  I  haven't  enough  to  do." 

"But  you're  always  a-doing.  Well,  if  you're  content,  I 
haven't  Christian  fortitude  enough  to  make  any  changes." 

She  smiled  and  thought  that  she  was  more  than  content. 
She  had  begun  to  detect  symptoms  in  her  husband  which  her 
own  heart  enabled  her  to  interpret.  In  brief,  it  looked  as 
if  he  were  drifting  on  a  smooth,  swift  tide  to  the  same  haven 
in  which  she  was  anchored. 

One  unusually  warm  morning  for  the  season,  rain  set  in 
after  breakfast.  Holcroft  did  not  fret  in  the  least  that  he 
could  not  go  to  the  fields,  nor  did  he,  as  had  been  his  cus- 
tom at  first,  find  rainy-day  work  at  the  barn.  The  cows,  in 
cropping  the  lush  grass,  had  so  increased  their  yield  of  milk 
that  it  was  necessary  to  churn  every  other  day,  and  Alida  was 
busy  in  the  dairy.  This  place  had  become  inviting  by  rea- 
son of  its  coolness,  and  she  had  rendered  it  more  so  by  mak- 
ing it  perfectly  clean  and  sweet.  Strange  to  say,  it  con- 
tained another  chair  besides  the  one  she  usually  occupied. 
The  apartment  was  large  and  stone-flagged.  Along  one  side 
were  shelves  filled  with  rows  of  shining  milk  pans.  In  one 


FARM   AND   FARMER   BEWITCHED  253 

corner  stood  the  simple  machinery  which  the  old  dog  put  in 
motion  when  tied  upon  his  movable  walk,  and  the  churn  was 
near.  An  iron  pipe,  buried  deep  in  the  ground,  brought 
cool  spring  water  from  the  brook  above.  This  pipe  emptied 
its  contents  with  a  low  gurgle  into  a  shallow,  oblong  recepta- 
cle sunk  in  the  floor,  and  was  wide  and  deep  enough  for  two 
stone  crocks  of  ample  size  to  stand  abreast  up  to  their  rims 
in  the  water.  The  cream  was  skimmed  into  these  stone  jars 
until  they  were  full,  then  Holcroft  emptied  them  into  the 
churn.  He  had  charged  Alida  never  to  attempt  this  part  of 
the  work,  and  indeed  it  was  beyond  her  strength.  After 
breakfast  on  churning  days,  he  prepared  everything  and  set 
the  dog  at  work.  Then  he  emptied  the  churn  of  the  butter- 
milk when  he  came  in  to  dinner. 

All  the  associations  of  the  place  were  pleasant  to  Alida. 
It  was  here  that  her  husband  had  shown  patience  as  well  as 
kindness  in  teaching  her  how  to  supplement  his  work  until 
her  own  experience  and  judgment  gave  her  a  better  skill 
than  he  possessed.  Many  pleasant,  laughing  words  had 
passed  between  them  in  this  cool,  shadowy  place,  and  on  a 
former  rainy  morning  he  had  brought  a  chair  down  that  he 
might  keep  her  company.  She  had  not  carried  it  back,  nor 
was  she  very  greatly  surprised  to  see  him  saunter  in  and  oc- 
cupy it  on  the  present  occasion.  She  stood  by  the  churn,  her 
figure  outlined  clearly  in  the  light  from  the  open  door,  as 
she  poured  in  cold  water  from  time  to  time  to  hasten  and 
harden  the  gathering  butter.  Her  right  sleeve  was  rolled 
well  back,  revealing  a  white  arm  that  was  becoming  beauti- 
fully plump  and  round.  An  artist  would  have  said  that  her 
attitude  and  action  were  unconsciously  natural  and  graceful. 
Holcroft  had  scarcely  the  remotest  idea  of  artistic  effect,  but 
he  had  a  sensible  man's  perception  of  a  charming  woman 
when  she  is  charming. 

"Mr.  Holcroft,"  she  asked  very  gravely,  "will  you  do 
something  for  me?" 

"Yes,  half  a  dozen  things." 

"You  promise  ?" 


HE   FELL    IN    LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


•  •t 


'Certainly.     What's  the  trouble?" 

"I  don't  mean  there  shall  be  any  if  I  can  help  it,"  she 
answered  with  a  light  ripple  of  laughter.  "Please  go  and 
put  on  your  coat." 

"How  you  humbugged  me !     It's  too  hot." 

"Oh,  you've  got  to  do  it;  you  promised.  You  can't  stay 
here  unless  you  do." 

"So  you  are  going  to  take  care  of  me  as  if  I  were  a  small 
boy?" 

"You  need  care — sometimes." 

He  soon  came  back  and  asked,  "Now  may  I  stay  ?" 

"Yes.     Please  untie  the  dog.     Butter's  come." 

"I  should  think  it  would,  or  anything  else  at  your  coax- 
ing." 

"Oh-h,  what  a  speech!  Hasn't  that  a  pretty  golden 
hue  ?"  she  asked,  holding  up  a  mass  of  the  butter  she  was 
ladling  from  the  churn  into  a  wooden  tray. 

"Yes,  you  are  making  the  gilt-edge  article  now.  I  don't 
have  to  sell  it  to  Tom  Watterly  any  more." 

"I'd  like  to  give  him  some,  though." 

He  was  silent,  and  something  like  sudden  rage  burned  in 
his  heart  that  Mrs.  Watterly  would  not  permit  the  gift. 
That  any  one  should  frown  on  his  having  such  a  helper  as 
Alida  was  proving  herself  to  be,  made  him  vindictive.  For- 
tunately her  face  was  turned  away  and  she  did  not  see  his 
heavy  frown.  Then,  to  shield  her  from  a  disagreeable  fact, 
he  said  quickly,  "Do  you  know  that  for  over  a  year  I  stead- 
ily went  behind  my  expenses,  and  that  your  butter-making 
has  turned  the  tide  already?  I'm  beginning  to  get  ahead 
again." 

'Tm  so  glad,"  and  her  face  was  radiant. 

"Yes,  I  should  know  that  from  your  looks.  It's  clearer 
every  day  that  I  got  the  best  of  our  bargain.  I  never 
dreamed,  though,  that  I  should  enjoy  your  society  as  I  do — 
that  we  should  become  such  very  good  friends.  That  wasn't 
in  the  bargain,  was  it?" 

"Bargain!"     The  spirited  way  with  which  she  echoed 


FARM   AND    FARMER   BEWITCHED  255 

the  word,  as  if  thereby  repudiating  anything  like  a  sordid 
side  to  their  mutual  relations,  was  not  lost  on  her  wonder- 
ing and  admiring  partner.  She  checked  herself  suddenly. 
"Now  let  me  teach  you  how  to  make  butter,"  and  with  the 
tray  in  her  lap,  she  began  washing  the  golden  product  and 
pressing  out  the  milk. 

He  laughed  in  a  confused,  delighted  way  at  her  piquant, 
half  saucy  manner  as  he  watched  her  deft  round  arm  and 
shapely  hand. 

"The  farmers'  wives  in  Oakville  would  say  your  hands 
were  too  little  to  do  much." 

"They  would  ?"  and  she  raised  her  blue  eyes  indignantly 
to  his.  "No  matter,  you  are  the  one  to  say  about  that." 

"I  say  they  do  too  much.  I  shall  have  to  get  Jane  to 
help  you." 

"By  all  means.     Then  you'll  have  more  society." 

"That  was  a  home  shot.  You  know  how  I  dote  on  every- 
body's absence,  even  Jane's." 

"You  dote  on  butter.  See  how  firm  and  yellow  it's  get- 
ting. You  wouldn't  think  it  was  milk-white  cream  a  little 
while  ago,  would  you?  Now  I'll  put  in  the  salt  and  you 
must  taste  it,  for  you're  a  connoisseur." 

"A  what!" 

"Judge,  then." 

"You  know  a  sight  more  than  I  do,  Alida." 

"I'm  learning  all  the  time." 

"So  am  I — to  appreciate  you." 

"Listen  to  the  sound  of  the  rain  and  the  water  as  it  runs 
into  the  milk-cooler.  It's  like  low  music,  isn't  it  ?" 

Poor  Holcroft  could  make  no  better  answer  than  a 
sneeze. 

"Oh-h,"  she  exclaimed,  "you're  catching  cold!  Come, 
you  must  go  right  upstairs.  You  can't  stay  here  another 
minute.  I'm  nearly  through. 

"I  was  never  more  contented  in  my  life." 

"You've  no  right  to  worry  me.  What  would  I  do  if  you 
got  sick  ?  Come,  I'll  stop  work  till  you  go." 


256  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

"Well  then,  little  boss,  good-by." 

With  a  half  suppressed  smile  at  his  obedience  Alida 
watched  his  reluctant  departure.  She  kept  on  diligently  at 
work,  but  one  might  have  fancied  that  her  thoughts  rather 
than  her  exertions  were  flushing  her  cheeks. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  but  a  few  moments  elapsed  before 
she  followed  him,  but  he  had  gone.  Then  she  saw  that  the 
rain  had  ceased  and  that  the  clouds  were  breaking.  His 
cheerful  whistle  sounded  reassuringly  from  the  barn,  and  a 
little  later  he  drove  up  the  lane  with  a  cart. 

She  sat  down  in  the  kitchen  and  began  sewing  on  the  fine 
linen  they  had  jested  about.  Before  long  she  heard  a  light 
step.  Glancing  up,  she  saw  the  most  peculiar  and  uncanny 
looking  child  that  had  ever  crossed  her  vision  and  with  dis- 
mal presentiment  knew  it  was  Jane. 


ANOTHER    WAIF  257 


OEAPTEK 


ANOTHEB     WAIF 

IT  was  indeed  poor,  forlorn  little  Jane  that  had  appeared 
like  a  spectre  in  the  kitchen  door.  She  was  as  wet  and 
bedraggled  as  a  chicken  caught  in  a  shower.  A  little 
felt  hat  hung  limp  over  her  ears;  her  pigtail  braid  had  lost  its 
string  and  was  unraveling  at  the  end,  and  her  torn,  sodden 
shoes  were  ready  to  drop  from  her  feet.  She  looked  both 
curiously  and  apprehensively  at  Alida  with  her  little  blink- 
ing eyes,  and  then  asked  in  a  sort  of  breathless  voice, 
"Where's  him?" 

"Mr.  Holcroft?" 

Jane  nodded. 

"He's  gone  out  to  the  fields.     You  are  Jane,  aren't  you  ?" 

'Another  nod. 

"Oh,  dear!"  groaned  Alida  mentally;  "I  wish  she  hadn't 
come."  Then  with  a  flush  of  shame  the  thought  crossed  her 
mind,  "She  perhaps  is  as  friendless  and  homeless  as  I  was, 
and  'him'  is  also  her  only  hope.  —  Come  in,  Jane,"  she  said 
kindly,  "and  tell  me  everything." 

"Be  you  his  new  girl?" 

"I'm  his  wife,"  said  Alida,  smiling. 

Jane  stopped;  her  mouth  opened  and  her  eyes  twinkled 
with  dismay.  "Then  he  is  married  after  all?"  she  gasped. 

"Yes,  why  not  ?" 

"Mother  said  he'd  never  get  any  one  to.  take  him." 

"Well,  you  see  she  was  mistaken." 

"She's  wrong  about  everything.  Well,  it's  no  use  then," 
and  the  child  turned  and  sat  down  on  the  doorstep. 

Alida  was  perplexed.     From  the  way  Jane  wiped  her 


258  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

eyes  with  her  wet  sleeve,  she  was  evidently  crying.  Coming 
to  her,  Alida  said,  "What  is  no  use,  Jane?  Why  are  you 
crying  ?" 

"I  thought — he — might — p'raps — let  me  stay  and  work 
for  him." 

Alida  was  still  more  perplexed.  What  could  be  said  by 
way  of  comfort,  feeling  sure  as  she  did  that  Holcroft  would 
be  bitterly  hostile  to  the  idea  of  keeping  the  child?  The 
best  she  could  do  was  to  draw  the  little  waif  out  and  obtain 
some  explanation  of  her  unexpected  appearance.  But  first 
she  asked,  "Have  you  had  any  breakfast  ?" 

Jane  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  then  you  must  have  some  right  away." 

"Don't  want  any.  I  want  to  die.  I  oughtn'ter  been 
born." 

"Tell  me  your  troubles,  Jane.     Perhaps  I  can  help  you." 

"No,  you'd  be  like  the  rest.  They  all  hate  me  and  make 
me  feel  I'm  in  the  way.  He's  the  only  one  that  didn't  make 
me  feel  like  a  stray  cat,  and  now  he's  gone  and  got  married," 
and  the  child  sobbed  aloud. 

Her  grief  was  pitiful  to  see,  for  it  was  overwhelming. 
Alida  stooped  down,  and  gently  lifting  the  child  up,  brought 
her  in.  Then  she  took  off  the  wet  hat  and  wiped  the  tear- 
stained  face  with  her  handkerchief.  "Wait  a  minute,  Jane, 
till  I  bring  you  something,"  and  she  ran  to  the  dairy  for  a 
glass  of  milk.  "You  must  drink  it,"  she  said,  kindly,  but 
firmly. 

The  child  gulped  it  down,  and  with  it  much  of  her  grief, 
for  this  was  unprecedented  treatment  and  was  winning  her 
attention. 

"Say,"  she  faltered,  "will  you  ask  him  to  let  me  stay?" 

"Yes,  I'll  ask  him,  but  I  can't  promise  that  he  will." 

"You  won't  ask  him  'fore  my  face  and  then  tell  him  not 
to  behind  my  back?"  and  there  was  a  sly,  keen  look  in  her 
eyes  which  tears  could  not  conceal. 

"No,"  said  Alida,  gravely,  "that's  not  my  way.  How 
did  you  get  here,  Jane  ?" 


ANOTHER    WAIF  259 

"Run  away." 

"From  where  ?" 

"Poorhouse." 

Alida  drew  a  quick  breath  and  was  silent  a  few  moments. 
"Is — is  your  mother  there  ?"  she  asked  at  length. 

"Yes.     They  wouldn't  let  us  visit  round  any  longer." 

"Didn't  your  mother  or  any  one  know  you  were  coming  ?" 

Jane  shook  her  head. 

Alida  felt  that  it  would  be  useless  to  burden  the  unhappy 
child  with  misgivings  as  to  the  result,  and  her  heart  softened 
toward  her  as  one  who  in  her  limited  way  had  known  the 
bitterness  and  dread  which  in  that  same  almshouse  had  over- 
whelmed her  own  spirit.  She  could  only  say  gently,  "Well, 
wait  till  Mr.  Holcroft  comes,  and  then  we'll  see  what  he 
says."  She  herself  was  both  curious  and  anxious  as  to  his 
course.  "It  will  be  a  heavy  cross,"  she  thought,  "but  I 
should  little  deserve  God's  goodness  to  me  if  I  did  not  be- 
friend this  child." 

Every  moment  added  weight  to  this  unexpected  burden 
of  duty.  Apart  from  all  consideration  of  Jane's  peculiari- 
ties, the  isolation  with  Holcroft  had  been  a  delight  in  itself. 
Their  mutual  enjoyment  of  each  other's  society  had  been 
growing  from  day  to  day,  and  she,  more  truly  than  he,  had 
shrunk  from  the  presence  of  another  as  an  unwelcome  in- 
trusion. Conscious  of  her  secret,  Jane's  prying  eyes  were 
already  beginning  to  irritate  her  nerves.  Never  had  she 
seen  a  human  face  that  so  completely  embodied  her  idea  of 
inquisitiveness  as  the  uncanny  visage  of  this  child.  She  saw 
that  she  would  be  watched  with  a  tireless  vigilance.  Her 
recoil,  however,  was  not  so  much  a  matter  of  conscious  rea- 
soning and  perception  as  it  was  an  instinctive  feeling  of  re- 
pulsion caused  by  the  unfortunate  child.  It  was  the  same 
old  story.  Jane  always  put  the  women  of  the  household  on 
pins  and  needles  just  as  her  mother  exasperated  the  men. 
Alida  had  to  struggle  hard  during  a  comparatively  silent 
hour  to  fight  down  the  hope  that  Holcroft  would  not  listen 
to  Jane's  and  her  own  request. 


260  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

As  she  stepped  quickly  and  lightly  about  in  her  prepara- 
tions for  dinner,  the  girl  watched  her  intently.  At  last  she 
gave  voice  to  her  thoughts  and  said,  "If  mother'd  only 
worked  round  smart  as  you,  p'raps  she'd  hooked  him  'stid  er 
you." 

Alida's  only  reply  was  a  slight  frown,  for  the  remark  sug- 
gested disagreeable  images  and  fancies.  "Oh,  how  can  I 
endure  it  2"  she,  sighed.  She  determined  to  let  Jane  plead 
her  own  cause  at  first,  thinking  that  perhaps  this  would  be 
the  safest  way.  If  necessary,  she  would  use  her  influence 
against  a  hostile  decision,  let  it  cost  in  discomfort  what  it 
might. 

At  a  few  moments  before  twelve  the  farmer  came  briskly 
toward  the  house,  and  wa&  evidently  in  the  best  of  spirits. 
When  he  entered  and  saw  Jane,  his  countenance  indicated  so 
much  dismay  that  Alida  could  scarcely  repress  a  smile.  The 
child  rose  and  stood  before  him  like  a  culprit  awaiting  sen- 
tence. She  winked  hard  to  keep  the  tears  back,  for  there 
was  no  welcome  in  his  manner.  She  could  not  know  how 
intensely  distasteful  was  her  presence  at  this  time,  nor  had 
Holcroft  himself  imagined  how  unwelcome  a  third  person  in 
his  house  could  be  until  he  saw  the  intruder  before  him. 
He  had  only  felt  that  he  was  wonderfully  contented  and 
happy  in  his  home  and  that  Jane  would  be  a  constant  source 
of  annoyance  and  restraint.  Moreover,  it  might  lead  to  visi- 
tation from  Mrs.  Mumpson,  and  that  was  the  summing  up  of 
earthly  ills.  But  the  child's  appearance  and  manner  were 
so  forlorn  and  deprecating  that  words  of  irritation  died  upon 
his  lips.  He  gravely  shook  hands  with  her  and  then  drew 
out  the  story  which  Alida  had  learned. 

"Why,  Jane,"  he  exclaimed,  frowning,  "Mr.  Watterly 
will  be  scouring  the  country  for  you.  I  shall  have  to  take 
you  back  right  after  dinner." 

"I  kinder  hoped,"  she  sobbed,  "that  you'd  let  me  stay. 
I'd  stay  in  the  barn  if  I  couldn't  be  in  the  house.  I'd  just 
as  soon  work  outdoors,  too." 

"I  don't  think  you'd  be  allowed  to  stay,"  said  the  fanner, 


ANOTHER    WAIF  261 

with  a  sinking  heart ;  "and  then — perhaps  your  mother  would 
be  coming  here." 

"I  can't  stand  mother  no  more'n  you  can,"  said  the  girl, 
through  her  set  teeth.  "I  oughtn'ter  been  born,  for  there's 
no  place  for  me  in  the  world." 

Holcroft  looked  at  his  wife,  his  face  expressive  of  the 
utmost  annoyance,  worry  and  irresolution.  Her  glance  was 
sympathetic,  but  she  said  nothing,  feeling  that  if  he  could 
make  the  sacrifice  from  his  own  will  he  should  have  the 
chance.  "You  can't  begin  to  know  how  much  trouble  this 
may  lead  to,  Jane,"  he  resumed.  "You  remember  how 
your  mother  threatened  to  take  the  law  upon  me,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  possible  for  you  to  stay  here  without  her  con- 
sent." 

"She  oughter  consent;  I'll  make  her  consent,"  cried  the 
child,  speaking  as  if  driven  to  desperation.  "What's  she 
ever  done  for  me  but  teach  me  mean  ways?  Keep  me  or 
kill  me,  for  I  must  be  in  some  place  where  I've  a  right  to 
be  away  from  mother.  I've  found  that  there's  no  sense  in 
her  talk  and  it  drives  me  crazy." 

Although  Jane's  words  and  utterance  were  strangely  un- 
couth, they  contained  a  despairing  echo  which  the  farmer 
could  not  resist.  Turning  his  troubled  face  to  his  wife,  he 
began,  "If  this  is  possible,  Alida,  it  will  be  a  great  deal 
harder  on  you  than  it  will  on  me.  I  don't  feel  that  I  would 
be  doing  right  by  you  unless  you  gave  your  consent  with 
full  knowledge  of — " 

"Then  please  let  her  stay,  if  it  is  possible.  She  seems  to 
need  a  friend  and  home  as  much  as  another  that  you  heard 
about." 

"There's  no  chance  of  such  a  blessed  reward  in  this  case," 
he  replied,  with  a  grim  laugh.  Then,  perplexed  indeed, 
he  continued  to  Jane,  "I'm  just  as  sorry  for  you  as  I  can  be, 
but  there's  no  use  of  getting  my  wife  and  self  in  trouble 
which  in  the  end  will  do  you  no  good.  You  are  too  young 
to  understand  all  that  your  staying  may  lead  to." 

"It  won't  lead  to  mother's  comin'  here,  and  that's  the 


262  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

worst  that  could  happen.  Since  she  can't  do  anything  for 
me  she's  got  to  let  me  do  for  myself." 

"Alida,  please  come  with  me  in  the  parlor  a  moment. — 
You  stay  here,  Jane."  When  they  were  alone,  he  resumed, 
"Somehow,  I  feel  strangely  unwilling  to  have  that  child  live 
with  us.  We  were  enjoying  our  quiet  life  so  much.  Then 
you  don't  realize  how  uncomfortable  she  will  make  you, 
Alida." 

"Yes,  I  do." 

"I  don't  think  you  can  yet.  Your  sympathies  are 
touched  now,  but  she'll  watch  you  and  irritate  you  in  a  hun- 
dred ways.  Don't  her  very  presence  make  you  uncom- 
fortable?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,  she  can't  stay,"  he  began,  decidedly.  "This 
is  your  home  and  no  one  shall  make  you  uncomfortable — " 

"But  I  should  be  a  great  deal  more  uncomfortable  if  she 
didn't  stay,"  Alida  interrupted.  "I  should  feel  that  I  did 
not  deserve  my  home.  Not  long  ago,  my  heart  was  break- 
ing because  I  was  friendless  and  in  trouble.  What  could  I 
think  of  myself  if  I  did  not  entreat  you  in  behalf  of  this 
poor  child  ?" 

"Thunder !"  ejaculated  Holcroft.  "I  guess  I  was  rather 
friendless  and  troubled  myself  and  I  didn't  know  the  world 
had  in  it  such  a  good  friend  as  you've  become,  Alida.  Well, 
well,  you've  put  it  in  such  a  light  that  I'd  be  almost  tempted 
to  take  the  mother,  also." 

"No,"  she  replied,  laughing,  "we'll  draw  the  line  at  the 
mother." 

"Well,  I'll  take  Jane  to  town  this  afternoon,  and  if  her 
mother  will  sign  an  agreement  to  leave  us  all  in  peace,  we'll 
give  up  our  old  cosey  comfort  of  being  alone.  I  suppose 
it  must  be  a  good  deed,  since  it's  so  mighty  hard  to  do  it," 
he  concluded  with  a  wry  face,  leading  the  way  to  the  kitchen 
again.  She  smiled  as  if  his  words  were  already  rewarding 
her  self-denial. 

"Well,  Jane,"  he  resumed,  "Mrs.  Holcroft  has  spoken  in 


ANOTHER    WAIF  263 

your  behalf,  and  if  we  can  arrange  matters  so  that  you  can 
stay  you  will  have  her  to  thank  chiefly.  I'll  take  you  back 
to  the  poorhouse  after  dinner,  so  it  may  be  known  what's 
become  of  you.  Then  if  your  mother'll  sign  an  agreement 
to  make  no  trouble  and  not  come  here,  we'll  give  you  a  home 
until  we  can  find  a  better  place  for  you." 

There  was  no  outburst  of  gratitude.  The  repressed, 
dwarfed  nature  of  the  child  was  incapable  of  this,  yet  there 
was  an  unwonted  little  thrill  of  hope  in  her  heart.  Possibly 
it  was  like  the  beginning  of  life  in  a  seed  under  the  first 
spring  rays  of  the  sun.  She  merely  nodded  to  Holcroft  as 
if  the  matter  had  been  settled  as  far  as  it  could  be  and 
ignored  Alida. 

"Why  don't  you  thank  Mrs.  Holcroft?"  he  asked. 

Then  Jane  turned  and  nodded  at  Alida.  Her  vocabulary 
of  thanks  was  undeveloped. 

"She's  glad,"  said  Alida.  "You'll  see.— Now  that  it's 
settled,  we  hope  you're  hungry,  Jane,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  be.     Can't  I  help  you  put  things  on  the  table  ?" 

"Yes." 

Holcroft  looked  at  the  two  for  a  moment  and  then  shook 
his  head  as  he  went  up  to  his  room.  "I  thought  my  wife 
was  nice  and  pleasant-looking  before,"  he  thought,  "but  she's 
like  a  picture  beside  that  child.  Well,  she  has  behaved 
handsomely.  Tom  Watterly  didn't  tell  half  the  truth  when 
he  said  she  was  not  of  the  common  run.  She's  a  Christian 
in  deeds,  not  talk.  What's  that  in  Scripture  about  'I  was 
hungry'  ?  Well,  well,  she  makes  religion  kind  of  natural 
and  plain  like,  whether  it's  easy  or  not.  Thunder!  what 
a  joke  it  is  to  see  her  so  grateful  because  I've  given  her  a 
chance  to  help  me  out  of  the  worst  scrape  a  man  could  be 
in!  As  if  she  hadn't  changed  everything  for  the  better! 
Here  I  am  sure  of  my  home  and  getting  ahead  in  the  world 
again,  and  it's  all  her  doing." 

In  admiration  of  his  wife,  Holcroft  quite  forgot  that 
there  had  been  any  self-sacrifice  on  his  part,  and  he  con- 
cluded that  he  could  endure  Jane  and  almost  anything  else  as 


264      HE  FELL  IN  LOVE  WITH  HIS  WIFE 

long  as  Alida  continued  to  look  after  his  comfort  and  in- 
terests. 

Now  that  the  worst  stress  of  Jane's  anxiety  was  over,  she 
proved  that  she  was  half  starved.  Indeed,  she  had  few  mis- 
givings now,  for  her  confidence  that  Holcroft  would  accom- 
plish what  he  attempted  was  almost  unbounded.  It  was  a 
rather  silent  meal  at  first,  for  the  farmer  and  his  wife  had 
much  to  think  about  and  Jane  much  to  do  in  making  up  for 
many  limited  meals.  At  last  Holcroft  smiled  so  broadly 
that  Alida  said,  "Something  seems  to  please  you." 

"Yes,  more  than  one  thing.  It  might  be  a  great  deal 
worse,  and  was,  not  long  ago.  I  was  thinking  of  old  times." 

"How  pleasant  they  must  have  been,  to  make  you  look  so 
happy !" 

"They  had  their  uses,  and  make  me  think  of  a  picture  I 
saw  in  a  store  window  in  town.  It  was  a  picture  of  a  wo- 
man, and  she  took  my  fancy  amazingly.  But  the  point  up- 
permost in  my  mind  was  a  trick  of  the  fellow  who  painted 
her.  He  had  made  the  background  as  dark  as  night  and  so 
she  stood  out  as  if  alive;  and  she  looked  so  sweet  and  good 
that  I  felt  like  shaking  hands  with  her.  I  now  see  why  the 
painter  made  the  background  so  dark." 

Alida  smiled  mischievously  as  she  replied,  "That  was 
his  art.  He  knew  that  almost  any  one  would  appear  well 
against  such  a  background." 

But  Holcroft  was  much  too  direct  to  be  diverted  from  his 
thought  or  its  expression.  "The  man  knew  the  mighty  nice- 
looking  woman  he  had  painted  would  look  well,"  he  said, 
"and  I  know  of  another  woman  who  appears  better  against 
a  darker  background.  That's  enough  to  make  a  man  smile 
who  has  been  through  what  I  have." 

She  could  not  help  a  flush  of  pleasure  or  disguise  the 
happy  light  in  her  eyes,  but  she  looked  significantly  at  Jane, 
who,  mystified  and  curious,  was  glancing  from  one  to  the 
other. 

"Confound  it !"  thought  the  farmer.     "That'll  be  the  way 


ANOTHER    WAIF  265 

of  it  now.  Here's  a  little  pitcher  that  is  nearly  all  ears. 
Well,  we're  in  for  it  and  must  do  our  duty." 

Going  to  town  that  day  involved  no  slight  inconvenience, 
but  Holcroft  dropped  everything  and  rapidly  made  his  prep- 
arations. 

When  Alida  was  left  alone  with  Jane,  the  latter  began 
clearing  the  table  with  alacrity,  and,  after  a  few  furtive 
glances  at  Mrs.  Holcroft,  yielded  to  the  feeling  that  she 
should  make  some  acknowledgment  of  the  intercession  in 
her  behalf.  "Say,"  she  began,  "I  thought  you  wasn't  goin' 
to  stand  up  for  me  after  all.  Woman  folks  are  liars, 
mostly." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Jane.  If  you  wish  to  stay  with  us, 
you  must  tell  the  truth  and  drop  all  sly  ways." 

"That's  what  he  said  when  I  first  come." 

"I  say  it  too.  You  see  a  good  deal,  Jane.  Try  to  see 
what  will  please  people  instead  of  what  you  can  find  out 
about  them.  It's  a  much  better  plan.  Now,  as  a  friend,  I 
tell  you  of  one  thing  you  had  better  not  do.  You  shouldn't 
watch  and  listen  to  Mr.  Holcroft  unless  he  speaks  to  you. 
He  doesn't  like  to  be  watched — no  one  does.  It  isn't  nice; 
and  if  you  come  to  us,  I  think  you  will  try  to  do  what  is  nice. 
Am  I  not  right?" 

"I  dunno  how,"  said  Jane. 

"It  will  be  part  of  my  business  to  teach  you.  You  ought 
to  understand  all  about  your  coming.  Mr.  Holcroft  doesn't 
take  you  because  he  needs  your  work,  but  because  he's  sorry 
for  you,  and  wishes  to  give  you  a  chance  to  do  better  and 
learn  something.  You  must  make  up  your  mind  to  lessons, 
and  learning  to  talk  and  act  nicely,  as  well  as  to  do  such  work 
as  is  given  you.  Are  you  willing  to  do  what  I  say  and  mind 
me  pleasantly  and  promptly?" 

Jane  looked  askance  at  the  speaker  and  was  vaguely  sus- 
picious of  some  trick.  In  her  previous  sojourn  at  the  farm- 
house she  had  concluded  that  it  was  her  best  policy  to  keep 
in  Holcroft's  good  graces,  even  though  she  had  to  defy  her 

mother  and  Mrs.  Wiggins,  and  she  was  now  by  no  means 
R-LXVIII 


266  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

ready  to  commit  herself  to  this  new  domestic  power.  She 
had  received  the  impression  that  the  authority  and  continued 
residence  of  females  in  this  household  was  involved  in  much 
uncertainty,  and  although  Alida  was  in  favor  now  and  the 
farmer's  wife,  she  didn't  know  what  "vicissitudes"  (as  her 
mother  would  indicate  them)  might  occur.  Holcroft  was 
the  only  fixed  and  certain  quantity  in  her  troubled  thoughts, 
and  after  a  little  hesitation  she  replied,  "I'll  do  what  he 
says ;  I'm  goin'  to  mind  him." 

"Suppose  he  tells  you  to  mind  me  ?" 

"Then  I  will.  That  'ud  be  mindin'  him.  I'm  goin'  to 
stick  to  him,  for  I  made  out  by  it  better  before  than  by 
mindin'  mother  and  Mrs.  Wiggins." 

Alida  now  understood  the  child  and  laughed  aloud. 
"You  are  right,"  she  said.  "I  won't  ask  you  to  do  any- 
thing contrary  to  his  wishes.  Now  tell  me,  Jane,  what  other 
clothes  have  you  besides  those  you  are  wearing  ?" 

It  did  not  take  the  girl  long  to  inventory  her  scanty  ward- 
robe, and  then  Alida  rapidly  made  out  a  list  of  what  was 
needed  immediately.  "Wait  here,"  she  said,  and  putting 
on  a  pretty ^straw  hat,  one  of  her  recent  purchases,  she  started 
for  the  barn. 

Holcroft  had  his  wagon  and  team  almost  ready  when 
Alida  joined  him,  and  led  the  way  to  the  floor  between  the 
sweet-smelling  hay-mows. 

"One  thing  leads  to  another,"  she  began,  looking  at  him 
a  little  deprecatingly.  "You  must  have  noticed  the  condi- 
tion of  Jane's  clothes." 

"She  does  look  like  a  little  scarecrow,  now  I  come  to 
think  of  it,"  he  admitted. 

"Yes,  she's  not  much  better  off  than  I  was,"  Alida  re- 
turned, with  downcast  eyes  and  rising  color. 

Her  flushing  face  was  so  pretty  under  the  straw  hat,  and 
the  dark  mow  as  a  background  brought  out  her  figure  so 
finely,  that  he  thought  of  the  picture  again  and  laughed  aloud 
for  pleasure.  She  looked  up  in  questioning  surprise,  thus 
adding  a  new  grace. 


ANOTHER    WAIF  267 

"I  wish  that  artist  fellow  was  here  now,"  he  exclaimed. 
"Tie  could  make  another  picture  that  would  suit  me  better 
than  the  one  I  saw  in  town." 

"What  nonsense !"  she  cried,  quickly  averting  her  face 
from  his  admiring  scrutiny.  "Come,  I'm  here  to  talk  busi- 
ness and  you've  no  time  to  waste.  I've  made  out  a  list  of 
what  the  child  actually  must  have  to  be  respectable." 

"You're  right,  Alida,"  said  the  farmer,  becoming  grave 
at  once  over  a  question  of  dollars  and  cents.  "As  you  say, 
one  thing  leads  to  another,  and  if  we  take  the  girl  we  must 
clothe  her  decently.  But  then,  I  guess  she'll  earn  enough  to 
pay  her  way.  It  isn't  that  I  worry  about  so  much,"  he  broke 
out,  discontentedly,  "but  the  interference  with  our  quiet, 
cosey  life.  Things  are  going  so  smoothly  and  pleasantly  that 
I  hate  a  change  of  any  kind." 

"We  mustn't  be  selfish,  you  know,"  she  replied.  "You 
are  doing  a  kind,  generous  act,  and  I  respect  you  all  the 
more  for  it." 

"That  settles  everything.  You'll  like  me  a  little  bettSr 
for  it,  too,  won't  you  ?"  he  asked,  hesitatingly. 

She  laughed  outright  at  this  question  and  answered,  "It 
won't  do  to  take  too  much  self-sacrifice  out  of  your  act. 
That's  something  which  does  us  all  good.  She  ought  to  have 
a  spelling  and  a  writing  book  also." 

Holcrof t  was  assuredly  falling  under  the  sway  of  the  little 
blind  god,  for  he  began  at  once  to  misunderstand  Alida. 
'"You  are  very  fond  of  self-sacrifice,"  he  said,  rather  stiffly. 
"Yes,  I'll  get  everything  on  your  list,"  and  he  took  it  from 
her  hand.  "Now  I  must  be  off,"  he  added,  "for  I  wish  to 
get  back  before  night,  and  it's  so  warm  I  can't  drive  fast. 
Sorry  I  have  to  go,  for  I  can't  say  I  dote  on  self-sacrifice." 

Alida  but  partially  understood  his  sudden  change,  of 
mood,  nor  was  the  farmer  much  better  enlightened  himself 
in  regard  to  his  irritation.  He  had  received  an  unexpected 
impression  and  it  seemed  to  fit  in  with  other  things  and  ex- 
plain them.  She  returned  slowly  and  dejectedly  to  the 
house,  leaving  unsaid  the  words  she  meant  to  speak  about 


268  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

Jane's  relations  to  her.  Now  she  wished  that  she  had  imi- 
tated Jane,  and  merely  nodded  to  the  farmer's  question.  "If 
he  knew  how  far  I  am  beyond  the  point  of  liking,  I  don't 
know  what  he'd  do  or  say,"  she  thought,  "and  I  suppose 
that's  the  reason  I  couldn't  answer  him  frankly,  in  a  way 
that  would  have  satisfied  him.  It's  a  pity  I  couldn't  begin 
to  just  like  a  little  at  first,  as  he  does,  and  have  everything 
grow  as  gradually  and  quietly  as  one  of  his  cornstalks.  That's 
the  way  I  meant  it  should  be;  but  when  he  stood  up  for  me 
and  defended  me  from  those  men,  my  heart  just  melted,  and 
in  spite  of  myself,  I  felt  I  could  die  for  him.  It  can't  be 
such  an  awful  thing  for  a  woman  to  fall  in  love  with  her  hus- 
band, and  yet — yet  I'd  rather  put  my  hand  in  the  fire  than 
let  him  know  how  I  feel.  Oh,  dear!  I  wish  Jane  hadn't 
been  born,  as  she  says.  Trouble  is  beginning  already,  and  it 
was  all  so  nice  before  she  came." 

In  a  few  moments  Holcrof  t  drove  up.  Alida  stood  in  the 
door  and  looked  timidly  at  him.  He  thought  she  appeared 
a*little  pale  and  troubled,  but  his  bad  mood  prevailed  and  he 
only  asked  briefly,  "Can't  I  get  something  for  you  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Well,  good-by,  then,"  and  he  drove  away  with  Jane, 
who  was  confirmed  in  her  line  of  policy.  "She's  afraid  of 
'im  too,"  thought  the  child.  "Mind  her !  guess  not,  unless  he 
says  so."  She  watched  the  farmer  furtively  and  concluded 
that  she  had  never  known  him  to  look  more  grim  or  be  more 
silent  even  under  her  mother's  blandishments.  "He's  mar- 
ried this  one,  I  s'pose,  to  keep  house  for  'im,  but  he  don't 
like  her  follerin'  'im  up  or  bein'  for'ard  any  more'n  he  did 
mother.  Shouldn't  wonder  if  he  didn't  keep  her,  either,  if 
she  don't  suit  better.  She  needn't  'a'  put  on  such  airs  with 
me,  for  I'm  goin'  to  stick  to  him." 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE   IN   TROUBLE  269 


CHAPTEE  XXIX 

HUSBAND    AND    WIFE    IN    TROUBLE 

LIKE  many  others  with  simple,  strong  natures,  Holcroft 
could  not  be  wrong-headed  moderately,  and  his 
thoughts,  once  started  in  a  direction,  were  apt  to  carry 
him  much  further  than  the  cause  warranted.  Engrossed  in 
painful  and  rather  bitter  musings,  he  paid  no  heed  to  Jane, 
and  almost  forgot  his  errand  to  town.  "I  was  a  fool  to  ask 
that  question,"  he  thought.  "I  was  getting  silly  and  senti- 
mental with  my  talk  about  the  picture  and  all  that.  She 
laughed  at  me  and  reminded  me  I  was  wasting  time.  Of 
course  she  can't  like  an  old,  hard-featured  man  like  me. 
I'm  beginning  to  understand  her  now.  She  made  a  business 
marriage  with  me  and  means  to  live  up  to  her  agreement. 
She's  honest;  she  feels  I've  done  her  a  great  kindness  in 
giving  her  a  home,  and  she's  willing  to  be  as  self-sacrificing 
as  the  day  is  long  to  make  it  up  to  me.  I  wish  she  wasn't 
so  grateful;  there's  no  occasion  for  it.  I  don't  want  her  to 
feel  that  every  pleasant  word  and  every  nice  act  is  so  much 
toward  paying  a  debt.  If  there  was  any  balance  in  my 
favor,  it  was  squared  up  long  ago,  and  I  was  willing  to  call 
it  even  from  the  start.  She's  made  me  like  her  for  her  own 
sake  and  not  on  account  of  what  she  does  for  me,  and  that's 
what  I  had  in  mind.  But  she's  my  superior  in  every  way; 
she's  growing  to  be  as  pretty  as  a  picture  and  I  suppose  I 
appear  like  a  rather  rough  customer.  Well,  I  can't  help  it, 
but  it  rather  goes  against  me  to  have  her  think,  'I've  married 
him  and  I'm  going  to  do  my  duty  by  him  just  as  I  agreed.' 
She'll  do  her  duty  by  this  Jane  in  the  same  self-sacrificing 
spirit,  and  will  try  to  make  it  pleasant  for  the  child  just  be- 


270  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

cause  it's  right  and  because  she  herself  was  taken  out  of 
trouble.  That's  the  shape  her  religion  takes.  'Tisn't  a  com- 
mon form,  I  know — this  returning  good  for  good  with  com- 
pound interest.  But  her  conscience  won't  let  her  rest  unless 
she  does  everything  she  can  for  me,  and  now  she'll  begin  to 
do  everything  for  Jane  because  she  feels  that  self-sacrifice  is 
a  duty.  Anybody  can  be  self -sacrificing.  If  I  made  up  my 
mind,  I  could  ask  Mrs.  Mumpson  to  visit  us  all  summer,  but 
I  couldn't  like  her  to  save  my  life,  and  I  don't  suppose  Alida 
can  like  me,  beyond  a  certain  point,  to  save  her  life.  But 
she'll  do  her  duty.  She'll  be  pleasant  and  self-sacrificing 
and  do  all  the  work  she  can  lay  her  hands  on  for  my  sake; 
but  when  it  comes  to  feeling  toward  me  as  I  can't  help  feel- 
ing toward  her — that  wasn't  in  the  bargain,"  and  he  startled 
Jane  with  a  sudden  bitter  laugh. 

"Say,"  said  the  child,  as  if  bent  on  adding  another  poign- 
ant reflection,  "if  you  hadn't  married  her  I  could  V  come 
and  cooked  for  you." 

"You  think  I'd  been  better  off  if  I'd  waited  for  you,  eh  ?" 

"You  kinder  looked  as  if  yer  thought  so." 

He  now  made  the  hills  echo  with  a  laugh,  excited  both 
by  his  bitter  fancies  and  the  preposterous  idea.  She  looked 
at  him  inquiringly  and  was  much  perplexed  by  his  unwonted 
behavior.  Indeed,  he  was  slightly  astonished  at  his  own 
strange  mood,  but  he  yielded  to  it  almost  recklessly.  "I 
say,  Jane,"  he  began,  "I'm  not  a  very  good-looking  man, 
am  I?" 

She  shook  her  head  in  emphatic  agreement. 

"I'm  old  and  rough  and  hard-featured  ?" 

Again  she  nodded  approvingly. 

"Children  and  some  others  speak  the  truth,"  he  growled. 

"I  never  had  no  teachin',  but  I'm  not  a  fool,"  remarked 
Jane,  keenly. 

"I  guess  I'm  the  fool  in  this  case,"  he  added. 

"It  don't  make  no  difference  to  me,"  she  said,  sympa- 
thetically. "I'm  goin'  to  mind  you  and  not  her.  If  you 
ever  send  her  away  I'll  cook  for  you." 


HUSBAND   AND    WIFE   IN   TROUBLE  271 

"Send  her  away!"  exclaimed  the  farmer,  with  a  shiver. 
"God  forbid.  There,  don't  talk  any  more." 

For  the  next  half  mile  he  drove  in  silence,  with  a  heavy 
frown  on  his  face ;  then  he  broke  out  sternly,  "If  you  don't 
promise  to  mind  Mrs.  Holcroft  and  please  her  in  everything, 
I'll  leave  you  at  the  poorhouse  door  and  drive  home  again." 

"Course  I  will,  if  you  tells  me  to,"  said  the  child  in 
trepidation. 

"Well,  I  do.  People  will  find  that  making  her  trouble  is 
the  surest  way  of  making  themselves  trouble." 

"She's  got  some  hold  on  'im,"  concluded  Jane,  who,  in 
listening  to  much  gossip,  had  often  heard  this  expression, 
and  now  made  a  practical  application  of  the  idea. 

Watterly  was  greatly  relieved  when  he  saw  Holcroft 
drive  up  with  the  fugitive.  "I  was  just  going  out  to  your 
place,"  he  said,  "for  the  girl's  mother  insisted  that  you  had 
enticed  the  child  away,"  and  the  man  laughed,  as  if  the  idea 
tickled  him  immensely. 

Holcroft  frowned,  for  he  was  in  no  mood  for  his  friend's 
rough  jests.  "Go  to  your  mother  till  I  send  for  you,"  he 
said  to  Jane. 

"The  fact  that  you  had  taken  two  other  females  from  the 
house  gave  some  color  to  Mrs.  Mumpson's  view,"  pursued. 
Watterly,  who  could  take  only  the  broadest  hint  as  to  his 
social  conduct. 

He  .received  one  now.  "Tom  Watterly/'  said  the 
farmer,  sternly,  "did  I  ever  insult  your  wife  ?" 

"By  jocks !  no,  you  nor  no  other  man.     I  should  say  not." 

"Well,  then,  don't  you  insult  mine.  Before  I'd  seen 
Mrs.  Holcroft,  you  told  me  she  was  out  of  the  common  run — 
how  much  out,  you  little  know — and  I  don't  want  her  mixed 
up  with  the  common  run,  even  in  your  thoughts." 

"Well,  now,  I  like  that,"  said  Watterly,  giving  Holcroft 
his  hand.  "You  know  I  didn't  mean  any  offence,  Jim.  It 
was  only  one  of  my  foolish  jokes.  You  were  mighty  slow 
to  promise  to  love,  honor  and  obey,  but  hanged  if  you  ain't 


272  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

more  on  that  line  than  any  man  in  town.  I  can  see  she's 
turning  out  well  and  keeping  her  agreement." 

"Yes,  that's  just  what  she's  doing,"  said  the  farmer, 
gloomily.  "She's  a  good,  capable  woman  that'll  sacrifice  her- 
self to  her  duty  any  day.  But  it  wasn't  to  talk  about  her 
that  I  came.  She's  a  sight  better  than  I  am,  but  she's  prob- 
ably not  good  enough  for  anybody  in  this  town  to  speak  to." 

"Oh,  pshaw,  now,  Jim!" 

"Well,  I've  come  on  disagreeable  business.  I  didn't 
know  that  Mrs.  Mumpson  and  her  child  were  here,  and  I 
wish  to  the  Lord  they  could  both  stay  here!  You've  found 
out  what  the  mother  is,  I  suppose  ?" 

"I  should  say  so,"  replied  Tom,  laughing.  "She's  talked 
several  of  the  old  women  to  death  already.  The  first  day 
she  was  here  she  called  on  my  wife  and  claimed  social  re- 
lations, because  she's  so  'respecterbly  connected,'  as  she  says. 
I  thought  Angy'd  have  a  fit.  Her  respectable  connections 
have  got  to  take  her  off  my  hands." 

"I'm  not  one  of  'em,  thank  goodness,"  resumed  Hoi- 
croft.  "But  I'm  willing  to  take  the  girl  and  give  her  a 
chance — at  least  I'll  do  it,"  he  corrected  himself  in  his  strict 
observance  of  truth.  "You  can  see  she's  not  a  child  to  dote 
on,  but  I  was  sorry  for  her  when  I  sent  her  mother  away 
and  said  I'd  try  and  do  something  for  her.  The  first  thing 
I  knew  she  was  at  the  house,  begging  me  to  either  take  her  in 
or  kill  her.  I  couldn't  say  no,  though  I  wanted  to.  Now 
you  see  what  kind  of  a  good  Samaritan  I  am." 

"Oh,  I  know  you.  You'd  hit  a  man  between  the  eyes  if 
he  charged  you  with  doing  a  good  deed.  But  what  does  your 
wife  say  to  adopting  such  a  cherub  ?" 

"We're  not  going  to  adopt  her  or  bind  ourselves.  My 
wife  took  the  child's  part  and  plead  with  me  in  her  behalf, 
though  I  could  see  the  young  one  almost  made  her  sick. 
She  thinks  it's  her  duty,  you  know,  and  that's  enough  for 
her." 

"By  jocks !  Holcrof t,  she  don't  feel  that  way  about  you, 
does  she  ?" 


HUSBAND   AND    WIFE   IN    TROUBLE  273 

"Why  shouldn't  she  ?" 

"Why  should  she?  I  can  take  about  anything  from 
Angy,  but  it  wouldn't  do  for  her  to  let  me  see  that  she  dis- 
liked me  so  that  I  kinder  made  her  sick." 

"Oh,  thunder,  Tom!  you're  getting  a  wrong  impression. 
I  was  never  treated  better  by  anybody  in  my  life  than  by 
Mrs.  Holcrof  t.  She's  a  lady,  every  inch  of  her.  But  there's 
no  reason  why  she  should  dote  on  an  old  fellow  like  me." 

"Yes,  there  is.  I  have  my  opinion  of  a  woman  who 
wouldn't  dote  on  a  man  that's  been  such  a  friend  as  you 
have." 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  Tom!  let's  talk  about  business.  She's 
too  grateful — that's  what  worries  me.  By  the  way  she  took 
hold  and  filled  the  house  with  comfort,  she  made  everything 
even  from  the  start.  She's  been  as  good  a  friend  to  me  as 
I  to  her.  She's  done  all  she  agreed  and  more,  and  I'll  never 
hear  a  word  against  her.  The  point  I've  been  trying  to  get 
at  is  this.  If  Mrs.  Mumpson  will  agree  never  to  come  near 
us  or  make  trouble  in  any  way,  we'll  take  the  child.  If 
she  won't  so  agree,  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  girl.  I 
don't  want  to  see  her  mother,  and  you'd  do  me  one  of  the 
kindest  turns  you  ever  did  a  man  by  stating  the  case  to  her." 

"If  I  do,"  said  Watterly,  laughing,  "you'll  have  to  for- 
give me  everything  in  the  past  and  the  future." 

"I  will,  Tom,  for  I'd  rather  have  an  eye  tooth  pulled  than 
face  that  woman.  We're  all  right — just  as  we  used  to  be  at 
school,  always  half  quarrelling,  yet  ready  to  stand  up  for 
each  other  to  the  last  drop.  But  I  must  have  her  promise  in 
black  and  white." 

"Well,  come  to  my  office  and  we'll  try  to  arrange  it.  The 
law  is  on  your  side,  for  the  county  won't  support  people 
that  any  one  will  take  off  its  hands.  Besides,  I'm  going  to 
shame  the  woman's  relations  into  taking  her  away,  and  they'll 
be  glad  there's  one  less  to  support." 

They  drew  up  a  brief,  strong  agreement,  and  Watterly 
took  it  to  the  widow  to  sign.  He  found  her  in  great  excite- 
ment and  Jane  looking  at  her  defiantly.  "I  told  you  he 


274  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

was  the  one  who  enticed  away  my  offspring,"  she  began,  al- 
most hysterically.  "He's  a  cold-blooded  villain.  If  there's 
law  in  the  land  I'll—" 

"Stop,"  thundered  Watterly.  His  voice  was  so  high  and 
authoritative  that  she  did  stop,  and  with  open  mouth  stared 
at  the  superintendent.  "Now,  be  quiet  and  listen  to  me," 
he  continued.  "Either  you  are  a  sane  woman  and  can  stop 
this  foolishness,  or  else  you  are  insane  and  must  be  treated 
as  such.  You  have  your  choice.  You  can't  tell  me  anything 
about  Holcroft ;  I've  known  him  since  he  was  a  boy.  He 
doesn't  want  your  girl.  She  ran  away  to  him,  didn't  you?" 
to  Jane,  who  nodded.  "But  he's  willing  to  take  her,  to  teach 
her  something  and  give  her  a  chance.  His  motive  is  pure 
kindness  and  he  has  a  good  wife  who'll — " 

"I  see  it  all,"  cried  the  widow,  tragically  clasping  her 
hands.  "It's  his  wife's  doings.  She  wishes  to  triumph  over 
me,  and  even  to  usurp  my  place  in  ministering  to  my  child. 
Was  there  ever  such  an  outrage?  Such  a  bold,  vindictive 
female — " 

Here  Jane,  in  a  paroxysm  of  indignant  protest,  seized  her 
mother  and  began  to  shake  her  so  violently  that  she  could 
not  speak. 

"Stop  that,"  said  Watterly,  repressing  laughter  with  diffi- 
culty. "I  see  you  are  insane  and  the  law  will  have  to  step 
in  and  take  care  of  you  both." 

"What  will  it  do  with  us?"  gasped  the  widow. 

"Well,  it  ought  to  put  you  in  strait-jackets,  to  begin 
with—" 

"I've  got  sense  if  mother  ain't,"  cried  Jane,  commencing 
to  sob. 

"It's  plain  the  law'll  decide  your  mother's  not  fit  to  take 
care  of  you.  Any  one  who  can  even  imagine  such  silly, 
ridiculous  things  as  she's  just  said  must  be  looked  after. 
You  may  take  a  notion,  Mrs.  Mumpson,  that  I'm  a  murderer 
or  a  giraffe.  It  would  be  just  as  sensible  as  your  other  talk." 

"What  does  Mr.  Holcroft  offer  ?"  said  the  widow,  cooling 
off  rapidly.  If  there  was  an  atom  of  common  sense  left  in 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE   Iff    TROUBLE  275 

any  of  his  pauper  charges,  Watterly  soon  brought  it  into 
play,  and  his  vague  threatenings  of  law  were  always  awe- 
inspiring. 

"He  makes  a  very  kind  offer,  that  you  would  jump  at  if 
you  had  sense — a  good  home  for  your  child.  You  ought  to 
know  she  can't  stay  here  and  live  on  charity  if  any  one  is 
willing  to  take  her." 

"Of  course  I  would  be  permitted  to  visit  my  child  from 
time  to  time?  He  couldn't  be  so  monstrously  hard-hearted 
as—" 

"Oh,  nonsense !"  cried  Watterly,  impatiently.  "The 
idea  of  his  letting  you  come  to  his  house  after  what  you've 
said  about  him!  I've  no  time  to  waste  in  foolishness,  or  he 
either.  He  will  let  Jane  visit  you,  but  you  are  to  sign  this 
paper  and  keep  the  agreement  not  to  go  near  him  or  make 
any  trouble  whatever." 

"It's  an  abominable — " 

"Tut!  tut!  that  kind  of  talk  isn't  allowed  here.  If  you 
can't  decide  like  a  sane  woman  the  law'll  soon  decide  for 
you." 

As  was  always  the  case  when  Mrs.  Mumpson  reached  the 
inevitable,  she  yielded ;  the  paper  was  signed,  and  Jane,  who 
had  already  made  up  her  small  bundle,  nodded  triumphantly 
to  her  mother  and  followed  Watterly.  Mrs.  Mumpson,  on 
tiptoe,  followed  also,  bent  on  either  propitiating  Holcroft 
and  so  preparing  the  way  for  a  visit,  or  else  on  giving  him 
once  more  a  "piece  of  her  mind." 

"All  right,  Holcroft,"  said  Watterly,  as  he  entered  the 
office,  "here's  the  paper  signed.  Was  there  ever  such  an 
id—" 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Holcroft,"  cried  the  widow, 
bursting  in  and  rushing  forward  with  extended  hand. 

The  farmer  turned  away  and  looked  as  if  made  of  stone. 

Changing  her  tactics  instantly,  she  put  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes  and  moaned,  "You  never  can  have  the  heart  to 
say  I  can't  come  and  see  my  child.  I've  signed  writings,  'tis 


276  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

true,  under  threats  and  compulsions;  but  I  trust  there  will  be 
relentings — " 

"There  won't  be  one  relent,"  cried  Jane.  "I  never  want 
to  see  you  again,  and  a  blind  post  could  see  that  he  doesn't." 

"Jane,"  said  Holcroft,  sternly,  "don't  speak  so  again.  If 
strangers  can  be  kind  and  patient  with  you,  you  can  be  so 
with  your  mother.  She  has  no  claims  on  me  and  has  said 
things  which  make  it  impossible  for  me  to  speak  to  her 
again,  but  I  shall  insist  on  your  visiting  and  treating  her 
kindly. — Good-by,  Watterly.  You've  proved  yourself  a 
friend  again,"  and  he  went  rapidly  away,  followed  by  Jane. 

Mrs.  Mumpson  was  so  taken  back  by  Holcroft's  final 
words  and  Watterly's  stern  manner  as  he  said,  "This  is  my 
office,"  that  for  once  in  her  life  she  disappeared  silently. 

Holcroft  soon  purchased  the  articles  on  his  list,  mean- 
while racking  his  brains  to  think  of  something  that  he 
could  buy  for  Alida,  but  the  fear  of  being  thought  senti- 
mental and  of  appearing  to  seek  a  personal  regard  for  him- 
self, not  "nominated  in  the  bond,"  restrained  him. 

On  his  way  home,  he  was  again  sunk  in  deep  abstraction, 
but  the  bitterness  of  his  feeling  had  passed  away.  Although 
as  mistaken  as  before  in  his  apprehension  of  Alida,  his 
thoughts  were  kinder  and  juster.  "I've  no  right  to  find  fault 
or  complain,"  he  said  to  himself.  "She's  done  all  I  asked 
and  better  than  she  agreed,  and  there's  no  one  to  blame 
if  she  can't  do  more.  It  must  have  been  plain  enough  to  her 
at  first  that  I  didn't  want  anything  but  a  housekeeper — a 
quiet,  friendly  body  that  would  look  after  the  house  and 
dairy,  and  she's  done  better  than  I  even  hoped.  That's  just 
the  trouble;  she's  turned  out  so  different  from  what  I  ex- 
pected and  looks  so  different  from  what  she  did,  that  I'm  just 
sort  of  carried  away.  I'd  give  half  the  farm  if  she  was  sit- 
ting by  my  side  this  June  evening  and  I  could  tell  her  all  I 
feel  and  know  she  was  glad.  I  must  be  just  and  fair  to  her. 
I  asked  her  to  agree  to  one  thing  and  now  I'm  beginning  to 
want  a  tremendous  sight  more — I  want  her  to  like  not  only 
her  home  and  work  and  the  quiet  life  she  so  longed  for,  but 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE   IN    TROUBLE  277 

I  want  her  to  like  me,  to  enjoy  my  society,  not  only  in  a 
friendly,  business-like  way,  but  in  another  way — yes,  con- 
found my  slow  wits !  somewhat  as  if  she  was  my  wife  in 
reality  and  not  merely  in  name,  as  I  insisted.  It's  mighty 
mean  business  in  me,  who  have  been  so  proud  of  standing  up 
to  my  agreements  and  so  exacting  of  others  to  do  the  same.  I 
went  away  cold  and  stiff  this  afternoon  because  she  wasn't 
silly  and  sentimental  when  I  was.  I'm  to  her  an  unpolished, 
homely,  middle-aged  man,  and  yet  I  sort  of  scoffed  at  the 
self-sacrifice  which  has  led  her  to  be  pleasant  and  compan- 
ionable in  every  way  that  her  feelings  allowed.  I  wish  I 
were  younger  and  better  looking,  so  it  wouldn't  all  be  a  sense 
of  duty  and  gratitude.  Gratitude  be  hanged!  I  don't  want 
any  more  of  it.  Well,  now,  James  Holcroft,  if  you're  the 
square  man  you  supposed  yourself  to  be,  you'll  be  just  as  kind 
and  considerate  as  you  know  how,  and  then  you'll  leave  Alida 
to  the  quiet,  peaceful  life  to  which  she  looked  forward  when 
she  married  you.  The  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  go  back  to 
your  first  ways  after  you  were  married  and  attend  to  the 
farm.  She  doesn't  want  you  hanging  around  and  looking  at 
her  as  if  she  was  one  of  her  own  posies.  That's  something 
she  wasn't  led  to  expect  and  it  would  be  mean  enough  to 
force  it  upon  her  before  she  shows  that  she  wishes  it,  and  I 
couldn't  complain  if  she  never  wished  it."  . 

During  the  first  hour  after  Holcroft's  departure,  Alida 
had  been  perplexed  and  worried,  but  her  intuitions  soon  led 
to  hopefulness,  and  the  beauty  and  peace  of  nature  without 
aided  in  restoring  her  serenity.  The  more  minutely  she 
dwelt  on  Holcroft's  words  and  manner,  the  more  true  it 
seemed  that  he  was  learning  to  take  an  interest  in  her  that 
was  personal  and  apart  from  every  other  consideration.  "If 
I  am  gentle,  patient  and  faithful,"  she  thought,  "all  will 
come  out  right.  He  is  so  true  and  straightforward  that  I 
need  have  no  fears." 

When  he  returned  and  greeted  her  with  what  seemed  his 
old,  friendly,  natural  manner,  and,  during  a  temporary  ab- 
sence of  Jane,  told  her  laughingly  of  the  Mumpson  episode, 


278  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

she  was  almost  completely  reassured.  "Suppose  the  widow 
breaks  through  all  restraint  and  appears  as  did  Jane,  what 
would  you  do  ?"  he  asked. 

"Whatever  you  wished,"  she  replied,  smiling. 

"In  other  words,  what  you  thought  your  duty  ?" 

"I  suppose  that  is  what  one  should  try  to  do." 

"I  guess  you  are  the  one  that  would  succeed  in  doing  it, 
even  to  Mrs.  Mumpson,"  he  said,  turning  hastily  away  and 
going  to  his  room. 

She  was  puzzled  again.  "I'm  sure  I  don't  dote  on  self- 
sacrifice  and  hard  duty  any  more  than  he  does,  but  I  can't 
tell  him  that  duty  is  not  hard  when  it's  to  him." 

Jane  was  given  the  room  over  the  kitchen  which  Mrs. 
Wiggins  had  occupied,  and  the  farmhouse  soon  adopted  her 
into  its  quiet  routine.  Holcroft's  course  continued  to  cause 
Alida  a  dissatisfaction  which  she  could  scarcely  define.  He 
was  as  kind  as  ever  he  had  been  and  even  more  considerate ; 
he  not  only  gratified  her  wishes,  but  tried  to  anticipate  them, 
while  Jane's  complete  subserviency  proved  that  she  had  been 
spoken  to  very  plainly. 

One  day  she  missed  her  spelling  lesson  for  the  third  time, 
and  Alida  told  her  that  she  must  learn  it  thoroughly  before 
going  out.  The  child  took  the  book  reluctantly,  yet  without 
a  word.  "That's  a  good  girl,"  said  Alida,  wishing  to  en- 
courage her.  "I  was  afraid  at  first  you  wouldn't  mind  me 
so  readily." 

"He  told  me  to ;  he'd  fire  me  out  the  window  if  I  didn't 
mind  you." 

"Oh,  no,  I  think  he's  very  kind  to  you." 

"Well,  he's  kind  to  you,  too." 

"Yes,  he  has  always  been  kind  to  me,"  said  Alida,  gently, 
lingeringly,  as  if  the  thought  were  pleasant  to  dwell  upon. 

"Say,"  said  Jane,  yielding  to  her  curiosity,  "how  did  you 
make  him  so  afraid  of  you  when  he  don't  like  you?  He 
didn't  like  mother,  but  he  wasn't  afraid  of  her." 

"Why  do  you  think  he  doesn't  like  me  ?"  Alida  faltered, 
turning  very  pale. 


HUSBAND    AND    WIFE   IN    TROUBLE  279 

"Oh,  'cause  he  looked  once  just  as  he  did  after  mother'd 
been  goin'  for — " 

"There,  be  still.  You  mustn't  speak  of  such  things  or 
talk  to  me  about  Mr.  Holcroft  in  such  a  way,"  and  she 
hastily  left  the  kitchen.  When  in  the  solitude  of  her  own 
room,  she  gave  way  to  bitter  tears.  "  Is  it  so  plain,"  she 
thought,  "that  even  this  ignorant  child  sees  it?  And  the 
unhappy  change  began  the  day  she  came,  too.  I  can't  un- 
derstand it.  We  were  so  happy  before;  and  he  seemed  to 
enjoy  being  near  me  and  talking  to  me  when  his  work  per- 
mitted. He  used  to  look  into  my  eyes  in  a  way  that  made 
me  hope  and,  indeed,  feel  almost  sure.  I  receive  no  more 
such  looks ;  he  seems  only  trying  to  do  his  duty  by  me  as  he 
promised  at  first,  and  acts  as  if  it  were  all  duty,  a  mere  mat- 
ter of  conscience.  Could  he  have  discovered  how  I  felt,  and 
so  is  taking  this  way  to  remind  me  that  nothing  of  the  kind 
was  in  our  agreement?  Well,  I've  no  reason  to  complain; 
I  accepted  the  relation  of  my  own  free  will,  but  it's  hard, 
hard  indeed  for  a  woman  who  loves  a  man  with  her  whole 
heart  and  soul — and  he  her  husband — to  go  on  meeting  him 
day  after  day,  yet  act  as  if  she  were  his  mere  business  part- 
ner. But  I  can't  help  myself,  my  very  nature  as  well  as  a 
sense  of  his  rights  prevents  me  from  asking  more  or  even 
showing  that  I  wish  for  more.  That  would  be  asking  for  it. 
But  can  it  be  true  that  he  is  positively  learning  to  dislike  me  ? 
to  shrink  from  me  with  that  strong  repulsion  which  women 
feel  toward  some  men  ?  Oh,  if  that  is  true,  the  case  is  hope- 
less; it  would  kill  me.  Every  effort  to  win  him,  even  the 
most  delicate  and  unobtrusive,  would  only  drive  him  further 
away ;  the  deepest  instincts  of  his  soul  would  lead  him  to 
withdraw — to  shun  me.  If  this  is  true,  the  time  may  come 
when,  so  far  from  my  filling  his  home  with  comfort,  I  shall 
make  him  dread  to  enter  it.  Oh,  oh ;  my  only  course  is  to 
remember  just  what  I  promised  and  he  expected  when  he 
married  me,  and  live  up  to  that." 

Thus  husband  and  wife  reached  the  same  conclusion  and 
were  rendered  equally  unhappy. 


280  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTEK    XXX 

HOLCKOFT/S  BEST  HOPE 

WHEN  Holcroft  came  in  to  dinner  that  day  the  view 
he  had  adopted  was  confirmed,  yet  Alida's  man- 
ner and  appearance  began  to  trouble  him.  Even 
to  his  rather  slow  perception,  she  did  not  seem  so  happy  as 
she  had  been.  She  did  not  meet  his  eye  with  her  old  frank, 
friendly,  and,  as  he  had  almost  hoped,  affectionate,  expres- 
sion; she  seemed  merely  feverishly  anxious  to  do  everything 
and  have  all  as  he  wished.  Instead  of  acting  with  natural 
ease  and  saying  what  was  in  her  mind  without  premedita- 
tion, a  conscious  effort  was  visible  and  an  apparent  solicitude 
that  he  should  be  satisfied.  The  inevitable  result  was  that  he 
was  more  dissatisfied.  "She's  doing  her  best  for  me,"  he 
growled,  as  he  went  back  to  his  work,  "and  it  begins  to  look 
as  if  it  might  wear  her  out  in  time.  Confound  it!  having 
everything  just  so  isn't  of  much  account  when  a  man's  heart- 
hungry.  I'd  rather  have  had  one  of  her  old  smiles  and 
gone  without  my  dinner.  Well,  well,  how  little  a  man  un- 
derstands himself  or  knows  the  future !  The  day  I  married 
her  I  was  in  mortal  dread  lest  she  should  care  for  me  too 
much  and  want  to  be  affectionate  and  all  that;  and  here  I 
am,  discontented  and  moping  because  everything  has  turned 
out  as  I  then  wished.  Don't  see  as  I'm  to  blame,  either. 
She  had  no  business  to  grow  so  pretty.  Then  she  looked  like 
a  ghost,  but  now  when  the  color  comes  into  her  cheeks,  and 
her  blue  eyes  sparkle,  a  man  would  be  a  stupid  clod  if  he 
didn't  look  with  all  his  eyes  and  feel  his  heart  a-thumping. 
That  she  should  change  so  wasn't  in  the  bargain ;  neither  was 


HOLCROFTS   BEST  HOPE  281 

it  that  she  should  read  aloud  in  such  sweet  tones  that  a  fel- 
low'd  like  to  listen  to  the  dictionary;  nor  that  she  should 
make  the  house  and  yard  look  as  they  never  did  before,  and, 
strangest  of  all,  open  my  eyes  to  the  fact  that  apple-trees  bear 
flowers  as  well  as  pippins.  I  can't  even  go  by  a  wild  posy 
in  the  lane  without  thinking  she'd  like  it  and  see  in  it  a  sight 
more  than  I  once  could.  I've  been  taken  in,  as  old  Jonathan 
feared,"  he  muttered,  following  out  his  fancy  with  a  sort  of 
grim  humor.  "She  isn't  the  woman  I  thought  I  was  marry- 
ing, at  all,  and  I  ain't  bound  by  my  agreement — not  in  my 
thoughts,  anyhow.  I'd  have  been  in  a  nice  scrape  if  I'd  taken 
my  little  affidavit  not  to  think  of  her  or  look  upon  her  in  any 
other  light  than  that  of  housekeeper  and  butter-maker.  It's 
a  scary  thing,  this  getting  married  with  a  single  eye  to  busi- 
ness. See  where  I  am  now.  Hanged  if  I  don't  believe  I'm 
in  love  with  my  wife,  and,  like  a  thundering  fool,  I  had  to 
warn  her  against  falling  in  love  with  me!  Little  need  of 
that,  though.  She  hasn't  been  taken  in,  for  I'm  the  same  old 
chap  she  married,  and  I'd  be  a  mighty  mean  cuss  if  I  went  to 
her  and  said,  'Here,  I  want  you  to  do  twice  as  much,  a  hun- 
dred fold  as  much  as  you  agreed  to.'  I'd  be  a  fool,  too,  for 
she  couldn't  do  it  unless  something  drew  her  toward  me  just 
as  I'm  drawn  toward  her." 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  he  leaned  on  the  handle  of  his 
corn-plow,  and  in  the  consciousness  of  solitude  said  aloud, 
"Things  grow  clear  if  you  think  of  them  enough,  and  the 
Lord  knows  I  don't  think  of  much  else  any  more.  It  isn't 
her  good  qualities  which  I  say  over  to  myself  a  hundred 
times  a  day,  or  her  education,  or  anything  of  the  kind  that 
draws  me;  it's  she  herself.  I  like  her.  Why  don't  I  say 
love  her,  and  be  honest?  Well,  it's  a  fact,  and  I've  got  to 
face  it.  Here  I  am,  plowing  out  my  corn,  and  it  looks  splen- 
did for  its  age.  I  thought  if  I  could  stay  on  the  old  place, 
and  plant  and  cultivate  and  reap,  I'd  be  more  than  content, 
and  now  I  don't  seem  to  care  a  rap  for  the  corn  or  the  farm 
either,  compared  with  Alida ;  and  I  care  for  her  just  be- 
cause she  is  Alida  and  no  one  else.  But  the  other  side  of 


282 

this  fact  has  an  ugly  look.  Suppose  I'm  disagreeable  to  her. 
When  she  married  me  she  felt  like  a  woman  drowning;  she 
was  ready  to  take  hold  of  the  first  hand  reached  to  her,  with- 
out knowing  much  about  whose  hand  it  was.  Well,  she's  had 
time  to  find  out.  She  isn't  drawn.  Perhaps  she  feels  toward 
me  somewhat  as  I  did  toward  Mrs.  Mumpson,  and  she  can't 
help  herself  either.  Well,  well,  the  bare  thought  of  it  makes 
my  heart  lead.  What's  a  man  to  do?  What  can  I  do  but 
live  up  to  my  agreement  and  not  torment  her  any  more  than 
I  can  help  with  my  company  ?  That's  the  only  honest  course. 
Perhaps  she'll  get  more  used  to  me  in  time.  She  might  get 
sick,  and  then  I'd  be  so  kind  and  watchful  that  she'd  think 
the  old  fellow  wasn't  so  bad  after  all.  But  I  shan't  give  her 
the  comfort  of  no  end  of  self-sacrifice  in  trying  to  be  pleasant 
and  sociable.  If  she's  foolish  enough  to  think  she's  in  my 
debt,  she  can't  pay  it  in  that  way.  ISTo,  sir!  I've  got  to 
make  the  best  of  it  now — I'm  bound  to — but  this  business 
marriage  will  never  suit  me  until  that  white  arm  I  saw  in 
the  dairy  room  is  around  my  neck,  and  she  looks  in  my  eyes 
and  says,  'James,  I  guess  I'm  ready  for  a  longer  marriage 
ceremony.' ' 

It  was  a  pity  that  Alida  could  not  have  been  among  the 
hazel-nut  bushes  near  and  heard  him. 

He  resumed  his  toil,  working  late  and  doggedly.  At 
supper  he  was  very  attentive  to  Alida,  but  taciturn  and  pre- 
occupied; and  when  the  meal  was  over  he  lighted  his  pipe 
and  strolled  out  into  the  moonlight.  She  longed  to  follow 
him,  yet  felt  it  to  be  more  impossible  than  if  she  were  chained 
to  the  floor. 

And  so  the  days  passed,  Holcroft  striving  with  the  whole 
force  of  his  will  to  appear  absorbed  in  the  farm,  and  she 
with  equal  effort  to  seem  occupied  and  contented  with  her 
household  and  dairy  duties.  They  did  everything  for  each 
other  that  they  could,  and  yet  each  thought  that  the  other 
was  acting  from  a  sense  of  obligation,  and  so  all  the  more 
sedulously  veiled  their  actual  thoughts  and  feelings  from  each 


HOLCROFTS    BEST  HOPE  283 

other.     Of  course,  such  mistaken  effort  only  led  to  a  more 
complete  misunderstanding. 

With  people  of  their  simplicity  and  habit  of  reticence, 
little  of  what  was  in  their  hearts  appeared  on  the  surface. 
Neither  had  time  to  mope,  and  their  mutual  duties  were  in 
a  large  measure  a  support  and  refuge.  Of  these  they  could 
still  speak  freely,  for  they  pertained  to  business.  Alida's  de- 
votion to  her  work  was  unfeigned,  for  it  seemed  now  her  only 
avenue  of  approach  to  her  husband.  She  watched  over  the 
many  broods  of  little  chickens  with  tireless  vigilance.  If  it 
were  yellow  gold,  she  could  not  have  gathered  the  butter  from 
the  churn  with  greater  greed.  She  kept  the  house  immacu- 
late and  sought  to  develop  her  cooking  into  a  fine  art.  She 
was  scrupulous  in  giving  Jane  her  lessons  and  in  trying  to 
correct  her  vernacular  and  manners,  but  the  presence  of  the 
child  grew  to  be  a  heavier  cross  every  day.  She  could  not 
blame  the  girl  whose  misfortune  it  was  to  lead  incidentally 
to  the  change  in  Holcroft's  manner,  yet  it  was  impossible  not 
to  associate  her  with  the  beginning  of  that  change.  Jane  was 
making  decided  improvement,  and  had  Alida  been  happy  and 
at  rest  this  fact  would  have  given  much  satisfaction  in  spite 
of  the  instinctive  repugnance  which  the  girl  seemed  to  in- 
spire universally.  Holcroft  recognized  this  repugnance  and 
the  patient  effort  to  disguise  it  and  be  kind. 

"Like  enough  she  feels  in  the  same  way  toward  me,"  he 
thought,  "and  is  trying  a  sight  harder  not  to  show  it.  But 
she  seems  willing  enough  to  talk  business  and  to  keep  up  her 
interest  in  the  partnership.  Well,  blamed  if  I  wouldn't 
rather  talk  business  to  her  than  love  to  any  other  woman!" 

So  it  gradually  came  about  that  they  had  more  and  more 
to  say  to  each  other  on  matters  relating  to  the  farm.  Hol- 
croft showed  her  the  receipts  from  the  dairy,  and  her  eyes 
sparkled  as  if  he  had  brought  jewels  home  to  her.  Then  she 
in  her  turn  would  expatiate  on  the  poultry  interests  and 
assure  him  that  there  were  already  nearly  two  hundred  little 
chicks  on  the  place.  One  afternoon,  during  a  shower,  she 
ventured  to  beguile  him  into  listening  to  the  greater  part  of 


284  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

one  of  the  agricultural  journals,  and  with  much  deference 
made  two  or  three  suggestions  about  the  farm  which  he  saw 
were  excellent.  She  little  dreamed  that  if  she  were  willing 
to  talk  of  turning  the  farm  upside  down  and  inside  out,  he 
would  have  listened  with  pleasure. 

They  both  began  to  acquire  more  serenity  and  hopeful- 
ness, for  even  this  sordid  business  partnership  was  growing 
strangely  interesting.  The  meals  grew  less  and  less  silent, 
and  the  farmer  would  smoke  his  pipe  invitingly  near  in  the 
evening,  so  that  she  could  resume  their  talk  on  bucolic  sub- 
jects without  much  conscious  effort,  while  at  the  same  time 
if  she  did  not  wish  his  society  she  could  shun  it  without  dis- 
courtesy. He  soon  perceived  that  she  needed  some  encour- 
agement to  talk  even  of  farm  matters,  but  having  received 
it  that  she  showed  no  further  reluctance.  He  naturally  be- 
gan to  console  himself  with  business  as  unstintedly  as  he 
dared.  "As  long  as  I  keep  on  this  tack  all  seems  well,"  he 
muttered.  "She  don't  act  as  if  I  was  disagreeable  to  her, 
but  then,  how  can  a  man  tell?  If  she  thinks  it  her  duty, 
she'll  talk  and  smile,  yet  shiver  at  the  very  thought  of  my 
touching  her.  Well,  well,  time  will  show.  We  seem  to  be 
getting  more  sociable,  anyhow." 

They  both  recognized  this  fact  and  tried  to  disguise  it  and 
to  relieve  themselves  from  the  appearance  of  making  any  un- 
due advances  by  greater  formality  of  address.  In  Jane's 
presence,  he  had  formed  the  habit  of  speaking  to  his  wife  as 
Mrs.  Holcroft,  and  now  he  was  invariably  "Mr." 

One  evening,  in  the  latter  part  of  June,  he  remarked  at 
supper,  "I  must  give  half  a  day  to  hoeing  the  garden  to- 
morrow. I've  been  so  busy  working  out  the  corn  and  potatoes 
that  it  seems  an  age  since  I've  been  in  the  garden." 

"She  and  me,"  began  Jane,  "I  mean  Mrs.  Holcroft  and  I, 
have  been  in  the  garden." 

"That's  right,  Jane,  you're  coming  on.  I  think  your  im- 
proved talk  and  manners  do  Mrs.  Holcroft  much  credit.  I'd 
like  to  take  some  lessons  myself."  Then,  as  if  a  little 


HOLCROFTS   BEST  HOPE  285 

alarmed  at  his  words,  he  hastened  to  ask,  "What  have  you 
been  doing  in  the  garden  ?" 

"You'll  see  when  you  go  there,"  replied  Jane,  her  small 
eyes  twinkling  with  the  rudiments  of  fun. 

Holcroft  looked  at  the  child  as  if  he  had  not  seen  her  for 
some  time  either.  Her  hair  was  neatly  combed,  braided  and 
tied  with  a  blue  ribbon  instead  of  a  string,  her  gown  was  as 
becoming  as  any  dress  could  be  to  her,  her  little  brown  hands 
were  clean,  and  they  no  longer  managed  the  knife  and  fork 
in  an  ill-bred  manner.  The  very  expression  of  the  child's 
face  was  changing,  and  now  that  it  was  lighted  up  with  mirth 
at  the  little  surprise  awaiting  him,  it  had  at  least  attained 
the  negative  grace  of  being  no  longer  repulsive.  He  sighed 
involuntarily  as  he  turned  away.  "Just  see  what  she's  doing 
for  that  child  that  I  once  thought  hideous !  How  much  she 
might  do  for  me  if  she  cared  as  I  do !" 

He  rose  from  the  table,  lighted  his  pipe  and  went  out  to 
the  doorstep.  Alida  looked  at  him  wistfully.  "He  stood 
there  with  me  once  and  faced  a  mob  of  men,"  she  thought. 
"Then  he  put  his  arm  around  me.  I  would  face  almost  any 
danger  for  even  such  a  caress  again."  The  memory  of  that 
hour  lent  her  unwonted  courage,  and  she  approached  him 
timidly  and  said,  "Perhaps  you  would  like  to  go  and  look  at 
the  garden  ?  Jane  and  I  may  not  have  done  everything 
right." 

"Why,  certainly.  I  forgot  about  the  garden;  but  then 
you'll  have  to  go  with  me  if  I'm  to  tell  you." 

"I  don't  mind,"  she  said,  leading  the  way. 

The  June  sun  was  low  in  the  west,  and  the  air  had  become 
deliciously  cool  and  fragrant.  The  old  rose  bushes  were  in 
bloom,  and  as  she  passed  she  picked  a  bud  and  fastened  it  on 
her  bosom.  Woodthrushes,  orioles,  and  the  whole  chorus  of 
birds  were  in  full  song;  limpid  rills  of  melody  from  the 
meadow  larks  flowed  from  the  fields,  and  the  whistling  of 
the  quails  added  to  the  harmony. 

Holcroft  was  in  a  mood  of  which  he  had  never  been  con- 
scious before.  These  familiar  sounds,  which  had  been  un- 


286  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

heeded  so  much  of  his  life,  now  affected  him  strangely,  creat- 
ing an  immeasurable  sadness  and  longing.  It  seemed  as  if 
perceptions  which  were  like  new  senses  were  awakening  in 
his  mind.  The  world  was  full  of  wonderful  beauty  before 
unrecognized,  and  the  woman  who  walked  lightly  and  grace- 
fully at  his  side  was  the  crown  of  it  all.  He  himself  was  so 
old,  plain  and  unworthy  in  contrast.  His  heart  ached  with 
a  positive,  definite  pain  that  he  was  not  younger,  handsomer 
and  better  equipped  to  win  the  love  of  his  wife.  As  she 
stood  in  the  garden,  wearing  the  rose,  her  neat  dress  outlining 
her  graceful  form,  the  level  rays  of  the  sun  lighting  up  her 
face  and  turning  her  hair  to  gold,  he  felt  that  he  had  never 
seen  or  imagined  such  a  woman  before.  She  was  in  har- 
mony with  the  June  evening  and  a  part  of  it,  while  he,  in  his 
working  clothes,  his  rugged,  sun-browned  features  and  hair 
tinged  with  gray,  was  a  blot  upon  the  scene.  She,  who  was 
so  lovely,  must  be  conscious  of  his  rude,  clownish  appear- 
ance. He  would  have  faced  any  man  living  and  held  his 
own  on  the  simple  basis  of  his  manhood.  Anything  like 
scorn,  although  veiled,  on  Alida's  part,  would  have  touched 
his  pride  and  steeled  his  will,  but  the  words  and  manner  of 
this  gentle  woman  who  tried  to  act  as  if  blind  to  all  that  he 
was  in  contrast  with  herself,  to  show  him  deference,  kindness 
and  goodwill  when  perhaps  she  felt  toward  him  somewhat 
as  she  did  toward  Jane,  overwhelmed  him  with  humility  and 
grief.  It  is  the  essence  of  deep,  unselfish  love  to  depreciate 
itself  and  exalt  its  object.  There  was  a  superiority  in  Alida 
which  Holcroft  was  learning  to  recognize  more  clearly  every 
day,  and  he  had  not  a  trace  of  vanity  to  sustain  him.  Now 
he  was  in  a  mood  to  wrong  and  undervalue  himself  without 
limit. 

She  showed  him  how  much  she  and  Jane  had  accom- 
plished, how  neat  and  clean  they  had  kept  the  rows  of  grow- 
ing vegetables  and  how  good  the  promise  was  for  an  indefi- 
nite number  of  dinners,  but  she  only  added  to  the  farmer's 
depression.  He  was  in  no  mood  for  onions,  parsnips  and 
their  vegetable  kin,  yet  thought,  "She  thinks  I'm  only  capa- 


HOLCROFTS   BEST  HOPE  287 

ble  of  being  interested  in  such  things  and  I've  been  at  much 
pains  to  give  that  impression.  She  picked  that  rose  for 
herself  and  now  she's  showing  me  how  soon  we  may  hope  to 
have  summer  cabbage  and  squash.  She  thus  shows  that  she 
knows  the  difference  between  us,  and  that  always  must  be 
between  us,  I  fear.  She  is  so  near  in  our  daily  life,  yet  how 
can  I  ever  get  any  nearer?  As  I  feel  now,  it  seems  im- 
possible." 

She  had  quickly  observed  his  depressed,  abstracted  man- 
ner, but  misinterpreted  the  causes.  Her  own  face  clouded 
and  grew  troubled.  Perhaps  she  was  revealing  too  much  of 
her  heart,  although  seeking  to  disguise  it  so  sedulously,  and 
he  was  penetrating  her  motives  for  doing  so  much  in  the 
garden  and  in  luring  him  thither  now.  He  was  not  showing 
much  practical  interest  in  beans  and  beets,  and  was  evidently 
oppressed  and  ill  at  ease. 

"I  hope  we  have  done  things  right  ?"  she  ventured,  turn- 
ing away  to  hide  tears  of  disappointment. 

"Her  self-sacrifice  is  giving  out,"  he  thought,  bitterly. 
"She  finds  she  can  scarcely  look  at  me  as  I  now  appear  in 
contrast  with  this  June  evening.  Well,  I  don't  blame  her. 
It  makes  me  almost  sick  when  I  think  of  myself,  and  I  won't 
be  brute  enough  to  say  a  harsh  word  to  her. — You  have  done 
it  all  far  better  than  I  could,"  he  said,  emphatically.  "I 
would  not  have  believed  it  if  you  hadn't  shown  me.  The 
trouble  is,  you  are  trying  to  do  too  much.  I — I  think  I'll 
take  a  walk." 

In  fact,  he  had  reached  the  limit  of  endurance ;  he  could 
not  look  upon  her  another  moment  as  she  appeared  that  even- 
ing and  feel  that  she  associated  him  chiefly  with  crops  and 
business,  and  that  all  her  grateful  goodwill  could  not  prevent 
his  personality  from  being  disagreeable.  He  must  carry  his 
bitterness  whither  no  eye  could  see  him,  and  as  he  turned,  his 
self-disgust  led  him  to  whirl  away  his  pipe.  It  struck  a  tree 
and  fell  shattered  at  its  foot.  Alida  had  never  seen  him  do 
anything  of  the  kind  before,  and  it  indicated  that  he  was 
passing  beyond  the  limits  of  patience.  "Oh,  oh,"  she  sobbed, 


288  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"I  fear  we  are  going  to  drift  apart !  If  he  can't  endure  to 
talk  with  me  about  such  things,  what  chance  have  I  at  all? 
I  hoped  that  the  hour,  the  beauty  of  the  evening  and  the  evi- 
dence that  I  had  been  trying  so  hard  to  please  him  would 
make  him  more  like  what  he  used  to  be  before  he  seemed  to 
take  a  dislike.  There's  only  one  way  to  account  for  it  all — 
he  sees  how  I  feel  and  he  don't  like  it.  My  very  love  sets 
him  against  me.  My  heart  was  overflowing  to-night.  How 
could  I  help  it,  as  I  remembered  how  he  stood  up  for  me? 
He  was  brave  and  kind ;  he  meant  well  by  me,  he  means  well 
now ;  but  he  can't  help  his  feelings.  He  has  gone  away  now 
to  think  of  the  woman  that  he  did  love  and  loves  still,  and  it 
angers  him  that  I  should  think  of  taking  her  place.  He  loved 
her  as  a  child  and  girl  and  woman — he  told  me  s* ;  he  warned 
me  and  said  he  could  not  help  thinking  of  her.  If  I  had  not 
learned  to  love  him  so  deeply  and  passionately,  and  show  it 
in  spite  of  myself,  time  would  gradually  have  softened  the 
past  and  all  might  have  gone  well.  Yet  how  could  I  help  it 
when  he  saved  me  from  so  much?  I  feel  to-night,  though, 
that  I  only  escaped  one  kind  of  trouble  to  meet  another  al- 
most as  bad  and  which  may  become  worse." 

She  strolled  to  the  further  end  of  the  garden  that  she 
might  become  calm  before  meeting  Jane's  scrutiny.  Useless 
precaution,  for  the  girl  had  been  watching  them  both.  Her 
motive  had  not  been  unmixed  curiosity,  since  having  taken 
some  part  in  the  garden  work,  she  had  wished  to  witness 
Holcroft's  pleasure  and  hear  his  praises.  Since  the  actors  in 
the  scene  so  misunderstood  each  other,  she  certainly  would 
not  rightly  interpret  them.  "She's  losin'  her  hold  on  'im," 
she  thought.  "He  acted  just  as  if  she  was  mother." 

When  Jane  saw  Alida  coming  toward  the  house  she 
whisked  from  the  concealing  shrubbery  to  the  kitchen  again, 
and  was  stolidly  washing  the  dishes  when  her  mistress  en- 
tered. "You  are  slow  to-night,"  said  Alida,  looking  at  the 
child  keenly,  but  the  impassive  face  revealed  nothing.  She 
set  about  helping  the  girl,  feeling  it  would  be  a  relief  to  keep 
her  hands  busy. 


HOLCROFTS    BEST   HOPE  289 

Jane's  efforts  to  comfort  were  always  maladroit,  yet  the 
apparent  situation  so  interested  her  that  she  yielded  to  her 
inclination  to  talk.  "Say,"  she  began — and  Alida  was  too 
dejected  and  weary  to  correct  the  child's  vernacular — "Mr. 
Holcroft's  got  somethin'  on  his  mind." 

"Well,  that's  not  strange." 

"No,  s'pose  not.  Hate  to  see  'im  look  so,  though.  He 
always  used  to  look  so  when  mother  went  for  'im  and  hung 
around  'im.  At  last  he  cleared  mother  out,  and  just  before 
he  looked  as  black  as  he  did  when  he  passed  the  house  while 
ago.  You're  good  to  me  an'  I'd  like  you  to  stay.  Ti's  you 
I'd  leave  'im  alone." 

"Jane,"  said  Alida,  coldly,  "I  don't  wish  you  ever  to 
speak  to  me  of  such  things  again,"  and  she  hastily  left  the 
room. 

"Oh,  well,"  muttered  Jane,  "I've  got  eyes  in  my  head. 
If  you're  goin'  to  be  foolish,  like  mother,  and  keep  a-goin'  for 
'im,  it's  your  lookout.  I  kin  get  along  with  him  and  he  with 
me,  and  I'm  goin'  to  stay." 

Holcroft  strode  rapidly  up  the  lane  to  the  deep  solitude 
at  the  edge  of  his  woodland.  Beneath  him  lay  the  farm  and 
the  home  that  he  had  married  to  keep,  yet  now,  without  a  sec- 
ond's hesitation,  he  would  part  with  all  to  call  his  wife  wife. 
How  little  the  name  now  satisfied  him,  without  the  sweet 
realities  of  which  the  word  is  significant!  The  term  and 
relation  had  become  a  mocking  mirage.  He  almost  cursed 
himself  that  he  had  exulted  over  his  increasing  bank  account 
and  general  prosperity,  and  had  complacently  assured  him- 
self that  she  was  doing  just  what  he  had  asked,  without  any 
sentimental  nonsense.  "How  could  I  expect  it  to  turn  out 
otherwise?"  he  thought.  "From  the  first  I  made  her  think 
I  hadn't  a  soul  for  anything  but  crops  and  money.  Now 
that  she's  getting  over  her  trouble  and  away  from  it,  she's 
more  able  to  see  just  what  I  am,  or  at  least  what  she  natu- 
rally thinks  I  am.  But  she  doesn't  understand  me^ — I 
scarcely  understand  myself.  I  long  to  be  a  different  man 
in  every  way,  and  not  to  work  and  live  like  an  ox.  Here  are 
R— M— XVIII 


290  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH    HIS    WIFE 

some  of  my  crops  almost  ready  to  gather  and  they  never  were 
better,  yet  I've  no  heart  for  the  work.  Seems  to  me  it'll 
wear  me  out  if  I  have  to  carry  this  load  of  trouble  all  the 
time.  I  thought  my  old  burdens  hard  to  bear;  I  thought  I 
was  lonely  before,  but  it  was  nothing  compared  with  living 
near  one  you  love,  but  from  whom  you  are  cut  off  by  some- 
thing you  can't  see,  yet  must  feel  to  the  bottom  of  your 
heart." 

His  distraught  eyes  rested  on  the  church  spire,  fading  in 
the  twilight,  and  the  little  adjoining  graveyard.  "Oh,  Bessie," 
he  groaned,  "why  did  you  die  ?  I  was  good  enough  for  you. 
Oh,  that  all  had  gone  on  as  it  was  and  I  had  never  known — " 

He  stopped,  shook  his  head  and  was  silent.  At  last  he 
sighed,  "I  did  love  Bessie,  I  love  and  respect  her  memory  as 
much  as  ever.  But  somehow  I  never  felt  as  I  do  now.  All 
was  quiet  and  matter-of-fact  in  those  days,  yet  it  was  real  and 
satisfying.  I  was  content  to  live  on,  one  day  like  another, 
to  the  end  of  my  days.  If  I  hadn't  been  so  content  it  would 
be  better  for  me  now.  I'd  have  a  better  chance  if  I  had  read 
more,  thought  more  and  fitted  myself  to  be  more  of  a  com- 
panion for  a  woman  like  Alida.  If  I  knew  a  great  deal  and 
could  talk  well  she  might  forget  I'm  old  and  homely.  Bessie 
was  so  true  a  friend  that  she  would  wish,  if  she  knows,  what 
I  wish.  I  thought  I  needed  a  housekeeper;  I  find  I  need 
more  than  all  else  such  a  wife  as  Alida  could  be — one  that 
could  help  me  to  be  a  man  instead  of  a  drudge,  a  Christian 
instead  of  a  discontented  and  uneasy  unbeliever.  At  one 
time,  it  seemed  that  she  was  leading  me  along  so  naturally 
and  pleasantly  that  I  never  was  so  happy,  then  all  at  once  it 
came  to  me  that  she  was  doing  it  from  gratitude  and  a  sense 
of  duty,  and  the  duty  grows  harder  for  her  every  day.  Well, 
there  seems  nothing  for  it  now  but  to  go  on  as  we  began,  and 
hope  that  the  future  will  bring  us  more  in  sympathy." 


"NEVER!"  291 


CHAPTEE    XXXI 


FOR  the  next  two  or  three  days  Jane  had  no  occasion  to 
observe  that  Alida  was  in  the  least  degree  obtrusive  in 
her  attention  to  the  farmer.  She  was  assiduous  in 
her  work  and  more  diligent  than  ever  in  her  conscious  efforts 
to  do  what  she  thought  he  wished  ;  but  she  was  growing  pale, 
constrained  and  silent.  She  struggled  heroically  to  appear 
as  at  first,  but  without  much  success,  for  she  could  not  rally 
from  the  wound  he  had  given  her  so  unintentionally  and 
which  Jane's  words  had  deepened.  She  almost  loathed  her- 
self under  her  association  with  Mrs.  Mumpson,  and  her  mor- 
bid thoughts  had  hit  upon  a  worse  reason  for  Holcroft's  ap- 
parent repulsion.  As  she  questioned  everything  in  the  sleep- 
less hours  that  followed  the  interview  in  the  garden,  she 
came  to  the  miserable  conclusion  that  he  had  discovered  her 
love,  and  that  by  suggestion,  natural  to  his  mind,  it  reminded 
him  of  her  pitiful  story.  He  could  be  sorry  for  her  and  be 
kind;  he  could  even  be  her  honest  friend  and  protector  as  a 
wronged  and  unhappy  woman,  but  he  could  not  love  one  with 
a  history  like  hers  and  did  not  wish  her  to  love  him.  This 
seemed  an  adequate  explanation  of  the  change  in  their  rela- 
tions, but  she  felt  that  it  was  one  under  which  her  life  would 
wither  and  her  heart  break.  This  promised  to  be  worse  than 
what  she  had  dreaded  at  the  almshouse  —  the  facing  the  world 
alone  and  working  till  she  died  among  strangers.  The  fact 
that  they  were  strangers  would  enable  her  to  see  their  averted 
faces  with  comparative  indifference,  but  that  the  man  to 
whom  she  had  yielded  her  whole  heart  should  turn  away  was 


292  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

intolerable.  She  felt  that  he  could  not  do  this  willingly,  but 
only  under  the  imperious  instincts  of  his  nature — that  he  was 
virtually  helpless  in  the  matter.  There  was  an  element  in 
these  thoughts  which  stung  her  woman's  soul,  and,  as  we 
have  said,  she  could  not  rally. 

Holcroft  never  suspected  her  morbid  thoughts,  and  his 
loyal,  loving  heart  was  incapable  of  dreaming  of  them.  He 
only  grew  more  unhappy  as  he  saw  the  changes  in  her,  for 
he  regarded  himself  as  the  cause.  Yet  he  was  perplexed 
and  unable  to  account  for  her  rapidly  increasing  pallor  while 
he  continued  so  kind,  considerate  and  especially  so  unob- 
trusive. He  assuredly  thought  he  was  showing  a  disposition 
to  give  her  all  the  time  she  wished  to  become  reconciled  to 
her  lot.  "Thunder !"  he  said  to  himself,  "we  can't  grow  old 
together  without  getting  used  to  each  other." 

On  Saturday  noon,  at  dinner,  he  remarked,  "I  shall  have 
to  begin  haying  on  Monday  and  so  I'll  take  everything  to 
town  this  afternoon,  for  I  won't  be  able  to  go  again  for  some 
days.  Is  there  anything  you'd  like  me  to  get,  Mrs.  Hol- 
croft ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  don't  need  anything,"  she  re- 
plied. He  looked  at  her  downcast  face  with  troubled  eyes 
and  shivered.  "She  looks  as  if  she  were  going  to  be  sick," 
he  thought.  "Good  Lord !  I  feel  as  if  there  was  nothing  but 
trouble  ahead.  Every  mouthful  I  take  seems  to  choke  me." 

A  little  later  he  pushed  away  almost  untasted  a  piece  of 
delicious  cherry  pie,  the  first  of  the  season.  Alida  could 
scarcely  keep  the  tears  back  as  she  thought,  "There  was  a 
time  when  he  would  have  praised  it  without  stint.  I  took 
so  much  pains  with  it  in  the  hope  he'd  notice,  for  he  once 
said  he  was  very  fond  of  it."  Such  were  the  straws  that 
were  indicating  the  deep,  dark  currents. 

As  he  rose,  she  said  almost  apathetically  in  her  dejection, 
"Mr.  Holcroft,  Jane  and  I  picked  a  basket  of  the  early  cher- 
ries. You  may  as  well  sell  them,  for  there  are  plenty  left 
on  the  tree  for  use." 

"That  was  too  much  for  you  to  do  in  the  hot  sun.     Well, 


"NEVER!"  293 

I'll  sell  'em  and  add  what  they  bring  to  your  egg  money  in 
the  bank.  You'll  get  rich,"  he  continued,  trying  to  smile,  "if 
you  don't  spend  more." 

"I  don't  wish  to  spend  anything,"  she  said,  turning  away 
with  the  thought,  "How  can  he  think  I  want  finery  when  my 
heart  is  breaking?" 

Holcroft  drove  away  looking  and  feeling  as  if  he  were 
going  to  a  funeral.  At  last  he  broke  out,  "I  can't  stand 
this  another  day.  To-morrow's  Sunday,  and  I'll  manage  to 
send  Jane  somewhere  or  take  Alida  out  to  walk  and  tell  her 
the  whole  truth.  She  shall  be  made  to  see  that  I  can't  help 
myself  and  that  I'm  willing  to  do  anything  she  wishes. 
She's  married  to  me  and  has  got  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and 
I'm  sure  I'm  willing  to  make  it  as  easy  as  I  can." 

Jane  was  a  little  perplexed  at  the  condition  of  affairs. 
Mrs.  Holcroft  had  left  her  husband  alone  as  far  as  possible, 
as  she  had  advised,  but  apparently  it  had  not  helped  mat- 
ters much.  But  she  believed  that  the  trouble  she  had  wit- 
nessed boded  her  no  ill  and  so  was  inclined  to  regard  it  philo- 
sophically. "He  looks  almost  as  glum  when  he's  goin'  round 
alone,  as  if  he'd  married  mother.  She  talked  too  much  and 
that  didn't  please  him ;  this  one  talks  less  and  less,  and  he 
don't  seem  pleased,  nuther,  but  it  seems  to  me  he's  very  fool- 
ish to  be  so  fault-findin'  when  she  does  everything  for  him  top 
notch.  I  never  lived  so  well  in  my  life,  nor  he,  nuther,  I 
believe.  He  must  be  in  a  bad  way  when  he  couldn't  eat  that 
cherry  pie." 

Alida  was  so  weary  and  felt  so  ill  that  she  went  to  the 
parlor  and  lay  down  upon  the  lounge.  "My  heart  feels  as 
if  it  were  bleeding  slowly  away,"  she  murmured.  "If  I'm 
going  to  be  sick  the  best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  die  and  end  it 
all,"  and  she  gave  way  to  that  deep  dejection  in  which  there 
seems  no  remedy  for  trouble. 

The  hours  dragged  slowly  by;  Jane  finished  her  house- 
hold tasks  very  leisurely,  then,  taking  a  basket,  went  out  to 
the  garden  to  pick  some  early  peas.  While  thus  engaged, 
she  saw  a  man  coming  up  the  lane.  His  manner  instantly 


294  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

riveted  her  attention  and  awakened  her  curiosity,  and  she 
crouched  lower  behind  the  pea-vines  for  concealment.  All 
her  furtive,  watchful  instincts  were  awake,  and  her  conscience 
was  clear,  too,  for  certainly  she  had  a  right  to  spy  upon  a 
stranger. 

The  man  seemed  almost  as  furtive  as  herself;  his  eyes 
were  everywhere  and  his  step  slow  and  hesitating.  Instead 
of  going  directly  to  the  house,  he  cautiously  entered  the  barn 
and  she  heard  him  a  little  later  call  Mr.  Holcroft.  Of  course, 
there  was  no  answer,  and,  as  if  assured,  he  approached  the 
house,  looking  here  and  there  on  every  side,  seemingly  to 
see  if  any  one  was  about.  Jane  had  associated  with  men  and 
boys  too  long  to  have  any  childlike  timidity,  and  she  also 
had  just  confidence  in  her  skulking  and  running  powers. 
"After  all,  he  don't  want  nothin'  of  me  and  won't  hurt  me," 
she  reasoned.  "He  acts  mighty  queer  though,  and  I'm  goin' 
to  hear  what  he  says." 

The  moment  he  passed  the  angle  of  the  house  she  dodged 
around  to  its  rear  and  stole  into  the  dairy  room,  being  well 
aware  that  from  this  position  she  could  overhear  words 
spoken  in  ordinary  conversational  tones  in  the  apartment 
above.  She  had  barely  gained  her  ambush  when  she  heard 
Alida  half  shriek,  "Henry  Ferguson !" 

It  was  indeed  the  man  who  had  deceived  her  that  had 
stolen  upon  her  solitude.  His  somewhat  stealthy  approach 
had  been  due  to  the  wish  and  expectation  of  finding  her 
alone,  and  he  had  about  convinced  himself  that  she  was  so 
by  exploring  the  barn  and  observing  the  absence  of  the  horses 
and  wagon.  Cunning  and  unscrupulous,  it  was  his  plan  to 
appear  before  the  woman  who  had  thought  herself  his  wife, 
without  any  warning  whatever,  believing  that  in  the  tumult 
of  her  surprise  and  shock  she  would  be  off  her  guard  and  that 
her  old  affection  would  reassert  itself.  He  passed  through 
the  kitchen  to  the  parlor  door.  Alida,  in  her  deep,  painful 
abstraction,  did  not  hear  him  until  he  stood  in  the  doorway, 
and,  with  outstretched  arms,  breathed  her  name.  Then,  as 
if  struck  a  blow,  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  half  shrieked  his 


"NEVER!"  295 

name  and  stood  panting,  regarding  him  as  if  he  were  a 
spectre. 

"Your  surprise  is  natural,  Alida  dear,"  he  said  gently, 
"but  I've  a  right  to  come  to  you,  for  my  wife  is  dead,"  and 
he  advanced  toward  her. 

"Stand  back!"  she  cried  sternly;  "you've  no  right  and 
never  can  have." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  have,"  he  replied  in  a  wheedling  tone. 
"Come,  come,  your  nerves  are  shaken.  Sit  down,  for  I've 
much  to  tell  you." 

"No,  I  won't  sit  down,  and  I  tell  you  to  leave  me  in- 
stantly. You've  no  right  here  and  I  no  right  to  listen  to 

you." 

"I  can  soon  prove  that  you  have  a  better  right  to  listen 
to  me  than  to  any  one  else.  Were  we  not  married  by  a  min- 
ister ?" 

"Yes,  but  that  made  no  difference.  You  deceived  both 
him  and  me." 

"It  made  no  difference,  perhaps,  in  the  eye  of  the  law, 
while  that  woman  you  saw  was  living,  but  she's  dead,  as  I  can 
easily  prove.  How  were  you  married  to  this  man  Holcroft  ?" 

Alida  grew  dizzy;  everything  whirled  and  grew  black 
before  her  eyes  as  she  sank  into  a  chair.  He  came  to  her 
and  took  her  hand,  but  his  touch  was  a  most  effectual  restora- 
tive. She  threw  his  hand  away  and  said  hoarsely,  "Do  you 
— do  you  mean  that  you  have  any  claim  on  me  ?" 

"Who  has  a  better  claim  ?"  he  asked  cunningly.  "I  loved 
you  when  I  married  you  and  I  love  you  now.  Do  you  think 
I  rested  a  moment  after  I  was  free  from  the  woman  I  de- 
tested ?  No,  indeed ;  nor  did  I  rest  till  I  found  out  who  took 
you  from  the  almshouse  to  be  his  household  drudge,  not  wife. 
I've  seen  the  justice  who  aided  in  the  wedding  farce  and 
learned  how  this  man  Holcroft  made  him  cut  down  even  the 
ceremony  of  a  civil  marriage  to  one  sentence.  It  was  posi- 
tively heathenish,  and  he  only  took  you  because  he  couldn't 
get  a  decent  servant  to  live  with  him." 


296  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HJS    WIFE 

"Oh,  God !"  murmured  the  stricken  woman.  "Can  such 
a  horrible  thing  be  2" 

"So  it  seems,"  he  resumed,  misinterpreting  her.  "Come 
now,"  he  said  confidently,  and  sitting  down,  "don't  look  so 
broken  up  about  it.  Even  while  that  woman  was  living  I 
felt  that  I  was  married  to  you  and  you  only;  now  that  I'm 
free- 

"But  I'm  not  free  and  don't  wish  to  be." 

"Don't  be  foolish,  Alida.  You  know  this  farmer  don't 
care  a  rap  for  you.  Own  up  now,  does  he  ?" 

The  answer  was  a  low,  half-despairing  cry. 

"There,  I  knew  it  was  so.  What  else  could  you  expect  I 
Don't  you  see  I'm  your  true  refuge  and  not  this  hard-hearted, 
money-grasping  farmer?" 

"Stop  speaking  against  him,"  she  cried.  "Oh,  God,"  she 
wailed,  "can  the  law  give  this  man  any  claim  on  me,  now  that 
his  wife  is  dead  ?" 

"Yes,  and  one  I  mean  to  enforce,"  he  replied,  doggedly. 

"I  don't  believe  she's  dead,  I  don't  believe  anything  you 
say.  You  deceived  me  once." 

"I'm  not  deceiving  you  now,  Alida,"  he  said  with  much 
solemnity.  "She  is  dead.  If  you  were  calmer,  I  have  proofs 
to  convince  you  in  these  papers.  Here's  the  newspaper,  too, 
containing  the  notice  of  her  death,"  and  he  handed  it  to  her. 

She  read  it  with  her  frightened  eyes  and  then  the  paper 
dropped  from  her  half  paralyzed  hands  to  the  floor.  She  was 
so  unsophisticated  and  her  brain  was  in  such  a  whirl  of  con- 
fusion and  terror  that  she  was  led  to  believe  at  the  moment 
that  he  had  a  legal  claim  upon  her  which  he  could  enforce. 

"Oh  that  Mr.  Holcroft  were  here!"  she  cried  desper- 
ately. "He  wouldn't  deceive  me ;  he  never  deceived  me." 

"It  is  well  for  him  that  he  isn't  here,"  said  Ferguson, 
assuming  a  dark  look. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  gasped. 

"Come,  come,  Alida,"  he  said,  smiling  reassuringly. 
"You  are  frightened  and  nervous  and  I  don't  wish  to  make 
you  any  more  so.  You  know  how  I  would  naturally  regard 


"NEVER!"  297 

the  man  who  I  feel  has  my  wife ;  but  let  us  forget  about  him. 
Listen  to  my  plan.  All  I  ask  of  you  is  to  go  with  me  to  some 
distant  place  where  neither  of  us  are  known,  and — " 

"Never,"  she  interrupted. 

"Don't  say  that,"  he  replied,  coolly.  "Do  you  think  I'm 
a  man  to  be  trifled  with  after  what  I've  been  through  ?" 

"You  can't  compel  me  to  go  against  my  will,"  and  there 
was  an  accent  of  terror  in  her  words  which  made  them  a 
question. 

He  saw  his  vantage  more  clearly  and  said  quietly,  "I  don't 
want  to  compel  you  if  it  can  be  helped.  You  know  how  true 
I  was  to  you — " 

"No,  no,  you  deceived  me.     I  won't  believe  you  now." 

"You  may  have  to.  At  any  rate,  you  know  how  fond  I 
was  of  you,  and  I  tell  you  plainly,  I  won't  give  you  up  now. 
This  man  doesn't  love  you,  nor  do  you  love  him — " 

"I  do  love  him,  I'd  die  for  him.  There  now,  you  know 
the  truth.  You  wouldn't  compel  a  woman  to  follow  you  who 
shrinks  from  you  in  horror,  even  if  you  had  the  right.  Al- 
though the  ceremony  was  brief  it  was  a  ceremony,  and  he 
was  not  married  then  as  you  were  when  you  deceived  me. 
He  has  ever  been  truth  itself,  and  I  won't  believe  you  have 
any  rights  till  he  tells  me  so  himself." 

"So  you  shrink  from  me  with  horror,  do  you?"  asked 
Ferguson,  rising,  his  face  growing  black  with  -passion. 

"Yes,  I  do.  Now  leave  me  and  let  me  never  see  you 
again." 

"And  you  are  going  to  ask  this  stupid  old  farmer  about 
my  rights  ?" 

"Yes,  I'll  take  proof  of  them  from  no  other,  and  even  if 
he  confirmed  your  words  I'd  never  live  with  you  again.  I 
would  live  alone  till  I  died." 

"That's  all  very  foolish  high  tragedy,  but  if  you're  not 
careful  there  may  be  some  real  tragedy.  If  you  care  for 
this  Holcroft,  as  you  say,  you  had  better  go  quietly  away 
with  me." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  faltered,  tremblingly. 


HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

"I  mean  I'm  a  desperate  man  whom  the  world  has 
wronged  too  much  already.  You  know  the  old  saying,  'Be- 
ware of  the  quiet  man.'  You  know  how  quiet,  contented  and 
happy  I  was  with  you,  and  so  I  would  be  again  to  the  end  of 
my  days.  You  are  the  only  one  who  can  save  me  from  be- 
coming a  criminal,  a  vagabond,  for  with  you  only  have  I 
known  happiness.  Why  should  I  live  or  care  to  live?  If 
this  farmer-clod  keeps  you  from  me,  woe  betide  him!  My 
one  object  in  living  will  be  his  destruction.  I  shall  hate 
him  only  as  a  man  robbed  as  I  am  can  hate." 

"What  would  you  do  ?"  she  could  only  ask  in  a  horrified 
whisper. 

"I  can  only  tell  you  that  he'd  never  be  safe  a  moment. 
I'm  not  afraid  of  him.  You  see  I'm  armed,"  and  he  showed 
her  a  revolver.  "He  can't  quietly  keep  from  me  what  I  feel 
is  my  own." 

"Merciful  Heaven !  this  is  terrible,"  she  gasped. 

"Of  course  it's  terrible.  I  mean  it  to  be  so.  You  can't 
order  me  off  as  if  I  were  a  tramp.  Your  best  course  for  his 
safety  is  to  go  quietly  with  me  at  once.  I  have  a  carriage 
waiting  near  at  hand." 

"No,  no,  I'd  rather  die  than  do  that,  and  though  he 
cannot  feel  as  I  do,  I  believe  he'd  rather  die  than  have  me 
do  it." 

"Oh,  well,  -if  you  think  he's  so  ready  to  die — " 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that.     Kill  me.     I  want  to  die." 

"Why  should  I  kill  you  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  contemptuous 
laugh.  "That  wouldn't  do  me  a  particle  of  good.  It  will 
be  your  own  fault  if  any  one  is  hurt." 

"Was  ever  a  woman  put  in  such  a  cruel  position !" 

"Oh,  yes,  many  and  many  a  time.  As  a  rule,  though, 
they  are  too  sensible  and  kind-hearted  to  make  so  much 
trouble." 

"If  you  have  legal  rights,  why  don't  you  quietly  enforce 
them  instead  of  threatening  ?" 

For  a  moment  he  was  confused  and  then  said,  recklessly, 


"NEVER!"  299 

"It  would  come  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end.  Holcroft 
would  never  give  you  up." 

"He'd  have  to.  I  wouldn't  stay  here  a  moment  if  I  had 
no  right." 

"But  you  said  you  would  not  live  with  me  again  ?" 

"Nor  would  I.  I'd  go  back  to  the  poorhouse  and  die 
there,  for  do  you  think  I  could  live  after  another  such  expe- 
rience ?  But  my  mind  has  grown  clearer.  You  are  deceiv- 
ing me  again,  and  Mr.  Holcroft  is  incapable  of  deceiving  me. 
He  would  never  have  called  me  his  wife  unless  I  was  his  wife, 
before  God  and  man." 

"I'm  not  deceiving  you  in  regard  to  one  thing,"  he  said, 
tragically. 

"Oh,  God,  what  shall  I  do?" 

"If  you  won't  go  with  me  you  must  leave  him,"  he  re- 
plied, believing  that  if  this  step  were  taken  others  would 
follow. 

"If  I  leave  him — if  I  go  away  and  live  alone,  will  you 
promise  to  do  him  no  harm  ?" 

"I'd  have  no  motive  to  harm  him  then,  which  will  be 
better  security  than  a  promise.  At  the  same  time  I  do 
promise." 

"And  you  will  also  promise  to  leave  me  utterly  alone?" 

"If  I  can." 

"You  must  promise  never  even  to  tempt  me  to  think  of 
going  away.  I'd  rather  you^d  shoot  me  than  ask  it.*  I'm 
not  a  weak,  timid  girl.  I'm  a  broken-hearted  woman  who 
fears  some  things  far  more  than  death." 

"If  you  have  any  fears  for  Holcroft  they  are  very 
rational  ones." 

"It  is  for  his  sake  that  I  would  act.  I  would  rather  suf- 
fer anything  and  lose  everything  than  have  harm  come  to 
him." 

"All  I  can  say  is  that  if  you  will  leave  him  completely 
and  finally  I  will  let  him  alone.  But  you  must  do  it 
promptly.  Everything  depends  upon  this.  I'm  in  too  reck- 
less and  bitter  a  mood  to  be  trifled  with.  Besides,  I've  plenty 


300  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

of  money  and  could  escape  from  the  country  in  twenty-four 
hours.  You  needn't  think  you  can  tell  this  story  to  Holcroft 
and  that  he  can  protect  you  and  himself.  I'm  here  under 
an  assumed  name  and  have  seen  no  one  who  knows  me.  I 
may  have  to  disappear  for  a  time  and  be  disguised  when  I 
come  again,  but  I  pledge  you  my  word  he'll  never  be  safe  as 
long  as  you  are  under  his  roof." 

"Then  I  will  sacrifice  myself  for  him,"  she  said,  pallid 
even  to  her  lips.  "I  will  go  away.  But  never  dream  that 
you  can  come  near  me  again — you  who  deceived  and  wronged 
me,  and  now,  far  worse,  threaten  the  man  I  love." 

"We'll  see  about  that,"  he  replied,  cynically.  "At  any 
rate,  you  will  have  left  him." 

"Go,"  she  said,  imperiously. 

"I'll  take  a  kiss  first,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  advancing  with 
a  sardonic  smile. 

"Jane !"  she  shrieked.  He  paused,  and  she  saw  evidences 
of  alarm. 

The  girl  ran  lightly  out  of  the  dairy  room  where  she  had 
been  a  greedy  listener  to  all  that  had  been  said,  and  a  mo- 
ment later  appeared  in  the  yard  before  the  house.  "Yes'm," 
she  answered. 

"Be  careful  now,  sir,"  said  Alida,  sternly.  "There's  a 
witness." 

"Only  a  little  idiotic-looking  girl." 

"She's  not  idiotic,  and  if  you  touch  me  the  compact's 
broken." 

"Very  well,  my  time  will  come.  Remember,  you've  been 
warned,"  and  he  pulled  his  hat  over  his  eyes  and  strode  away. 

"Bah !"  said  Jane,  with  a  snicker,  "as  if  I  hadn't  seen  his 
ugly  mug  so  I'd  know  it  'mong  a  thousand." 

With  a  face  full  of  loathing  and  dread  Alida  watched  her 
enemy  disappear  down  the  lane,  and  then,  half  fainting,  sank 
on  the  lounge. 

"Jane,"  she  called  feebly,  but  there  was  no  answer. 


JANE   PLAYS   MOUSE    TO    THE   LION  301 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

JANE    PLAYS    MOUSE    TO    THE    LIOIT 

IT  can  be  well  understood  that  Jane  had  no  disposition  to 
return  to  Mrs.  Holcroft  and  the  humdrum  duties  of  the 
house.  There  opened  before  her  an  exciting  line  of 
action  which  fully  accorded  with  her  nature,  and  she  en- 
tered upon  it  at  once.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  follow  the 
man  of  whom  she  had  learned  so  much.  Not  only  was  she 
spurred  to  this  course  by  her  curiosity,  but  also  by  her  in- 
stinctive loyalty  to  Holcroft,  and,  it  must  be  admitted,  by  her 
own  interests.  Poor  little  Jane  had  been  nurtured  in  a  hard 
school  and  had  by  this  time  learned  the  necessity  of  looking 
out  for  herself.  This  truth,  united  with  her  shrewd,  matter- 
of-fact  mind,  led  her  to  do  the  most  sensible  thing  under  the 
circumstances.  "I  know  a  lot  now  that  he'll  be  glad  to  know, 
and  if  I  tell  him  everything  he'll  keep  me  always.  The  first 
thing  he'll  want  to  know  is  what's  become  of  that  threatenin' 
scamp,"  and  she  followed  Ferguson  with  the  stealth  of  an 
Indian. 

Ferguson  was  not  only  a  scamp,  but,  like  most  of  his 
class,  a  coward.  He  had  been  bitterly  disappointed  in  his 
interview  with  Alida.  As  far  as  his  selfish  nature  per- 
mitted, he  had  a  genuine  affection  for  her,  and  he  had 
thought  of  little  else  besides  her  evident  fondness  for  him. 
He  was  so  devoid  of  moral  principle  that  he  could  not  com- 
prehend a  nature  like  hers,  and  had  scarcely  believed  it  pos- 
sible that  she  would  repulse  him  so  inflexibly.  She  had  al- 
ways been  so  gentle,  yielding  and  subservient  to  his  wishes 
that  he  had  thought  that,  having  been  assured  of  his  wife's 
death,  a  little  persuasion  and  perhaps  a  few  threats  would 


302  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   BIS    WIFE 

induce  her  to  follow  him,  for  he  could  not  imagine  her  be- 
coming attached  to  such  a  man  as  Holcroft  had  been  described 
to  be.  He'r  uncompromising  principle  had  entered  but 
slightly  into  his  calculations,  and  so  under  the  spur  of  anger 
and  selfishness  he  had  easily  entered  upon  a  game  of  bluff. 
He  knew  well  enough  that  he  had  no  claim  upon  Alida,  yet' 
it  was  in  harmony  with  his  false  heart  to  try  to  make  her 
think  so.  He  had  no  serious  intention  of  harming  Holcroft 
— he  would  be  afraid  to  attempt  this — but  if  he  could  so  work 
on  Alida's  fears  as  to  induce  her  to  leave  her  husband  he  be- 
lieved that  the  future  would  be  full  of  possibilities.  At  any 
rate,  he  would  find  his  revenge  in  making  Alida  and  Holcroft 
all  the  trouble  possible.  Even  in  the  excitement  -of  the  inter- 
view, however,  he  realized  that  he  was  playing  a  dangerous 
game,  and  when  Jane  answered  so  readily  to  Alida's  call  he 
was  not  a  little  disturbed.  Satisfied  that  he  had  accom- 
plished all  that  he  could  hope  for  at  present,  his  purpose  now 
was  to  get  back  to  town  unobserved  and  await  developments. 
He  therefore  walked  rapidly  down  the  lane  and  pursued  the 
road  for  a  short  distance  until  he  came  to  an  old,  disused  lane 
leading  up  the  hillside  into  a  grove  where  he  had  concealed  a 
horse  and  buggy.  Unless  there  should  be  necessity,  it  was  his 
intention  to  remain  in  his  hiding-place  until  after  nightfall. 
Jane  had  merely  to  skirt  the  bushy  hillside  higher  up,  in 
order  to  keep  Ferguson  in  view  and  discover  the  spot  in  which 
he  was  lurking.  Instead  of  returning  to  the  house,  she  kept 
right  on,  maintaining  a  sharp  eye  on  the  road  beneath 
to  make  sure  that  Holcroft  did  not  pass  unobserved.  By 
an  extended  detour,  she  reached  the  highway  and  con- 
tinued toward  town  in  the  hope  of  meeting  the  farmer.  At 
last  she  saw  him  driving  rapidly  homeward.  He  was  con- 
sumed with  anxiety  to  be  at  least  near  to  Alida,  even  if,  as 
he  believed,  he  was  no  longer  welcome  in  her  presence. 
When  Jane  stepped  out  into  the  road  he  pulled  up  his 
horses  and  stared  at  her.  She,  almost  bursting  with  her 
great  secrets,  put  her  finger  on  her  lips  and  nodded  por- 
tentously. 


JANE   PLAYS   MOUSE    TO    THE   LION  303 

"Well,  what  is  it  2"  he  asked,  his  heart  beating  quickly. 

"I've  got  a  lot  to  tell  yer,  but  don't  want  no  one  to  see 
us." 

"About  my  wife  2" 

The  girl  nodded. 

"Good  God!  speak  then.  Is  she  sick?"  and  he  sprung 
out  and  caught  her  arm  with  a  grip  that  hurt  her. 

"Please,  sir,  I'm  doin'  all  I  kin  for  yer  and — and  you 
hurt  me." 

Holcroft  saw  the  tears  coming  to  her  eyes  and  he  released 
his  hold  as  he  said,  "Forgive  me,  Jane,  I  didn't  mean  to; 
but  for  mercy's  sake,  tell  me  your  story." 

"It's  a  long  'un." 

"Well,  well,  give  me  the  gist  of  it  in  a  word." 

"I  guess  she's  goin'  to  run  away." 

Holcroft  groaned  and  almost  staggered  to  his  horses' 
heads,  then  led  them  to  the  roadside  and  tied  them  to  a  tree. 
Sitting  down,  as  if  too  weak  to  stand,  he  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands.  He  could  not  bear  to  have  Jane  see  his  distress. 
"Tell  your  story,"  he  said  hoarsely,  "quick,  for  I  may  have 
to  act  quickly." 

"Guess  yer  will.     Did  yer  know  she  was  married  2" 

"Certainly— to  me." 

"]No,   to   another   man — married   by   a   minister.     He's 
been  there  with  her."     She  little  foresaw  the  effect  of  her 
words,  for  the  farmer  bounded  to  his  feet  with  an  oath  and . 
sprang  to  his  horses. 

"Stop,"  cried  Jane,  tugging  at  his  arm.  "If  you  go 
rushin'  home  now,  you'll  show  you've  got  no  more  sense 
than  mother.  You'll  spoil  everything.  She  ain't  goin'  to 
run  away  with  him — she  said  she  wouldn't,  though  he  coaxed 
and  threatened  to  kill  yer  if  she  didn't.  'Fi's  a  man  I 
wouldn't  act  like  a  mad  bull.  I'd  find  out  how  to  get  ahead 
of  t'other  man." 

"Well,"  said  Holcroft,  in  a  voice  that  frightened  the 
child,  "she  said  she  wouldn't  run  away  with  this  scoundrel 
— of  course  not — but  you  say  she's  going  to  leave.  She'll 


304  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

meet  him  somewhere — good  God ! — but  how  should  you  un- 
derstand ?  Come,  let  me  get  home." 

"I  understand  a  sight  more'n  you  do  and  you  go  on  so 
that  I  can't  tell  you  anything.  If  you  showed  sense  you'd 
be  glad  I  was  lookin'  out  for  you  so  I  could  tell  you  every- 
thing. What's  the  good  of  goin'  rampagin'  home  when,  if 
you'd  only  listen,  you  could  get  even  with  that  scoundrel,  as 
yer  call  'im,  and  make  all  right,"  and  Jane  began  to  cry. 

"Oh,  thunder!"  exclaimed  the  chafing  man,  "tell  me 
your  story  at  once  or  you'll  drive  me  mad.  You  don't  half 
know  what  you're  talking  about  or  how  much  your  words 
mean — how  should  you?  The  thing  to  do  is  to  get  home 
as  soon  as  possible." 

"You  ain't  no  reason  to  be  so  mad  and  glum  all  the 
while,"  cried  Jane,  smarting  under  a  sense  of  injustice. 
"Here  I'm  a-tryin'  to  do  for  you,  and  you'll  be  sorry  ernuff 
if  you  don't  stop  and  listen.  And  she's  been  a-tryin'  to  do 
for  you  all  along  and  she's  been  standin'  up  for  you  this 
afternoon  and  is  goin'  to  run  away  to  save  your  life." 

"Run  away  to  save  my  life  ?     Are  you  crazy  ?" 

"No,  but  you  be,"  cried  the  girl,  excited  and  exasperated 
beyond  restraint.  "If  she  is  your  wife  I'd  stand  up  for  her 
and  take  care  of  her  since  she  stands  up  for  you  so.  'Stead 
of  that,  you  go  round  as  glum  as  a  thundercloud,  and  now 
want  to  go  ragin'  home  to  her.  Dunno  whether  she's  your 
wife  or  not,  but  I  do  know  she  said  she  loved  you  and  'ud 
die  for  you,  and  she  wouldn't  do  a  thing  that  man  asked  but 
go  away  to  save  your  life." 

Holcroft  looked  at  the  girl  as  if  dazed.  "Said  she  loved 
me  ?"  he  repeated  slowly. 

"Of  course.  You  knowed  that  all  'long — anybody  could 
see  it — an'  you  don't  treat  her  much  better'n  you  did 
mother."  Then,  with  an  impatient  gesture,  she  asked,  "Will 
you  sit  down  and  listen  ?" 

"No,  I  won't,"  he  cried,  springing  toward  his  horses,  "I'll 
find  out  if  your  words  are  true." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Jane,  contemptuously,  "run  right  to  her 


JANE   PLAYS   MOUSE    TO    THE   LION  305 

to  find  out  somethin'  as  plain  as  the  nose  on  her  face,  and 
run  right  by  the  man  that  was  threatenin'  her  and  you  too." 

Wheeling  round,  he  asked,  "Where  is  he?" 

"I  know,  but  I  won't  say  'nuther  word  till  you  stop  goin' 
on.  'Fi's  a  man  I'd  find  out  what  to  do  'fore  I  did  anythinV 

Jane  had  little  comprehension  of  the  tempest  she  had 
raised  in  Holcroft's  soul  or  its  causes,  and  so  was  in  no  mood 
to  make  allowances  for  him.  By  this  time,  the  first  gust 
of  his  passion  was  passing  and  reason  resuming  its  sway. 
He  paced  up  and  down  in  the  road  a  moment  or  two,  and 
then  sat  down  as  he  said,  "I  don't  half  understand  what 
you've  been  talking  about  and  I  fear  you  don't.  You've 
evidently  been  listening  and  watching  and  have  got  hold  of 
something.  Now,  I'll  be  as  patient  as  I  can  if  you'll  tell  me 
the  whole  story  quickly,"  and  he  turned  his  flushed,  quiver- 
ing face  toward  her. 

"Then  I  s'pose  you'll  .scold  me  for  listenin'  and  watchin' 
that  scamp,"  said  the  girl,  sullenly. 

"No,  Jane,  not  in  this  case.  Unless  your  impressions  are 
all  mistaken  I  may  have  to  thank  you  all  my  life.  I'm  not 
one  to  forget  those  who  are  true  to  me.  Now,  begin  at  the 
beginning  and  go  right  through  to  the  end;  then  I  may 
understand  better  than  you  can." 

Jane  did  as  she  was  told,  and  many  "says  he's"  and  "says 
she's"  followed  in  her  literal  narrative.  Holcroft  again 
dropped  his  face  into  his  hands  and  before  she  was  through 
tears  of  joy  trickled  through  his  fingers.  When  she  finished 
he  rose,  turned  away,  and  hastily  wiped  his  eyes,  then  gave 
the  girl  his  hand  as  he  said,  "Thank  you,  Jane.  You've 
tried  to  be  a  true  friend  to  me  to-day.  I'll  show  you  that  I 
don't  forget.  I  was  a  fool  to  get  in  such  a  rage,  but  you 
can't  understand  and  must  forgive  me.  Come,  you  see  I'm 
quiet  now,"  and  he  untied  the  horses  and  lifted  her  into  his 
wagon. 

"What  yer  goin'  to  do  ?"  she  asked,  as  they  drove  away. 

"I'm  going  to  reward  you  for  watching  and  listening  to 
that  scoundrel,  but  you  must  not  watch  me  or  Mrs.  Hoi- 


306  HE   FELL   IN  LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

croft,  or  listen  to  what  we  say  unless  we  speak  before  you. 
If  you  do  I  shall  be  very  angry.  Now,  you've  only  one 
thing  more  to  do  and  that  is,  show  me  where  this  man  is 
hiding." 

"But  you  won't  go  near  him  alone?"  inquired  Jane  in 
much  alarm. 

"You  must  do  as  I  bid  you,"  he  replied,  sternly.  "Show 
me  where  he's  hiding,  then  stay  by  the  wagon  and  horses." 

"But  he  same  as  said  he'd  kill  you." 

"You  have  your  orders,"  was  his  quiet  reply. 

She  looked  scared  enough,  but  remained  silent  until  they 
reached  a  shaded  spot  on  the  road,  then  said,  "If  you  don't 
want  him  to  see  you  too  soon,  better  tie  here.  He's  around 
yonder  in  a  grove  up  on  the  hill." 

Holcroft  drove  to  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the  highway  and 
again  tied  his  horses,  then  took  the  whip  from  the  wagon. 
"Are  you  afraid  to  go  with  me  a  little  way  and  show  me 
just  where  he  is  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,  but  you  oughtn'ter  go." 

"Come  on,  then.  You  must  mind  me  if  you  wish  to  keep 
my  goodwill.  I  know  what  I'm  about."  As  in  his  former 
encounter,  his  weapon  was  again  a  long,  tough  whipstock 
with  a  leather  thong  attached.  This  he  cut  off  and  put  in 
his  pocket,  then  followed  Jane's  rapid  lead  up  the  hill.  Very 
soon  she  said,  "There's  the  place  I  saw  'im  in.  If  you  will 
go,  I'd  steal  up  on  him." 

"Yes.  You  stay  here."  She  made  no  reply,  but  the 
moment  he  disappeared  she  was  upon  his  trail.  Her  curi- 
osity was  much  greater  than  her  timidity,  and  she  justly 
reasoned  that  she  had  little  to  fear. 

Holcroft  approached  from  a  point  whence  Ferguson  was 
expecting  no  danger.  The  latter  was  lying  on  the  ground, 
gnawing  his  nails  in  vexation,  when  he  first  heard-  the 
farmer's  step.  Then  he  saw  a  dark-visaged  man  rushing  upon 
him.  In  the  impulse  of  his  terror,  he  drew  his  revolver  and 
fired.  The  ball  hissed  near,  but  did  no  harm,  and  before 
Ferguson  could  use  his  weapon  again,  a  blow  from  the  whip- 


JANE   PLAYS   MOUSE    TO    THE   LION  307 

stock  paralyzed  his  arm  and  the  pistol  dropped  to  the  ground, 
So  also  did  its  owner  a  moment  later,  under  a  vindictive  rain 
of  blows,  until  he  shrieked  for  mercy. 

"Don't  move,"  said  Holcroft,  sternly,  and  he  picked  up 
the  revolver.  "So  you  meant  to  kill  me,  eh  ?" 

"No,  no,  I  didn't.  I  wouldn't  have  fired  if  it  hadn't  been 
in  self-defence  and  because  I  hadn't  time  to  think."  He 
spoke  with  difficulty,  for  his  mouth  was  bleeding  and  he  was 
terribly  bruised. 

"A  liar,  too,"  said  the  farmer,  glowering  down  upon  him. 
"But  I  knew  that  before.  What  did  you  mean  by  your 
threats  to  my  wife  ?" 

"See  here,  Mr.  Holcroft,  I'm  down  and  at  your  mercy. 
If  you'll  let  me  off  I'll  go  away  and  never  trouble  you  or 
your  wife  again." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Holcroft,  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "You'll 
never,  never  trouble  us  again." 

"What!  do  you  mean  to  murder  me?"  Ferguson  half 
shrieked. 

"Would  killing  such  a  thing  as  you  be  murder?  Any 
jury  in  the  land  would  acquit  me.  You  ought  to  be  roasted 
over  a  slow  fire." 

The  fellow  tried  to  scramble  on  his  knees,  but  Holcroft 
hit  him  another  savage  blow,  and  said,  "Lie  still." 

Ferguson  began  to  wring  his  hands  and  beg  for  mercy. 
His  captor  stood  over  him  a  moment  of  two  irresolutely  in 
his  white-heated  anger,  then  thoughts  of  his  wife  began  to 
soften  him.  He  could  not  go  to  her  with  blood  on  his 
hands — she  who  had  taught  him  such  lessons  of  forbearance 
and  forgiveness.  He  put  the  pistol  in  his  pocket  and  giving 
his  enemy  a  kick,  said,  "Get  up." 

The  man  rose  with  difficulty. 

"I  won't  waste  time  in  asking  any  promises  from  you, 
but  if  you  ever  trouble  my  wife  or  me  again,  I'll  break  every 
bone  in  your  body.  Go,  quick,  before  my  mood  changes, 
and  don't  say  a  Word." 


308  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

As  the  man  tremblingly  untied  his  horse,  Jane  stepped 
out  before  him  and  said,  "I'm  a  little  idiotic  girl,  am  I  ?" 

He  was  too  thoroughly  cowed  to  make  any  reply  and 
drove  as  rapidly  away  as  the  ground  permitted,  guiding  his 
horse  with  difficulty  in  his  maimed  condition. 

Jane,  in  the  exuberance  of  her  pleasure,  began  some- 
thing like  a  jig  on  the  scene  of  conflict,  and  her  antics  were 
so  ridiculous  that  Holcroft  had  to  turn  away  to  repress  a 
smile.  "You  didn't  mind  me,  Jane,"  he  said  gravely. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  replied,  "after  showin'  you  the  way  to 
'im,  you  oughter  not  grudge  me  seein'  the  fun." 

"But  it  isn't  nice  for  little  girls  to  see  such  things." 

"Never  saw  anything  nicer  in  my  life.  You're  the  kind 
of  man  I  believe  in,  you  are.  Golly!  only  wished  she'd 
seen  you.  I've  seen  many  a  rough  and  tumble  'mong  farm 
hands,  but  never  anything  like  this.  It  was  only  his  pistol 
I  was  'fraid  of." 

"Will  you  do  exactly  what  I  say  now?"     She  nodded. 

"Well,  go  home  across  the  fields  and  don't,  by  word  or 
manner,  let  Mrs.  Holcroft  know  what  you've  seen  or  heard 
and  say  nothing  about  meeting  me.  Just  make  her  think 
you  know  nothing  at  all  and  that  you  only  watched  the  man 
out  of  sight.  Do  this  and  I'll  give  you  a  new  dress." 

"I'd  like  somethin'  else  'sides  that." 

"Well,  what?" 

"I'd  like  to  be  sure  I  could  stay  right  on  with  you." 

"Yes,  Jane,  after  to-day,  as  long  as  you're  a  good  girl. 
Now  go,  for  I  must  get  back  to  my  team  before  this  scamp 
goes  by." 

She  darted  homeward  as  the  farmer  returned  to  his 
wagon.  Ferguson  soon  appeared  and  seemed  much  startled 
as  he  saw  his  nemesis  again.  "I'll  keep  my  word,"  he  said, 
as  he  drove  by. 

"You'd  better,"  called  the  farmer.  "You  know  what  to 
expect  now." 

Alida  was  so  prostrated  by  the  shock  of  the  interview  that 
she  rallied  slowly.  At  last  she  saw  that  it  was  getting  late 


JANE   PLAYS    MOUSE    TO    THE   LION  309 

and  that  she  soon  might  expect  the  return  of  her  husband. 
She  dragged  herself  to  the  door  and  again  called  Jane,  but 
the  place  was  evidently  deserted.  Evening  was  coming  on 
tranquilly,  with  all  its  sweet  June  sounds,  but  now  every  bird 
song  was  like  a  knell.  She  sunk  on  the  porch  seat  and 
looked  at  the  landscape,  already  so  dear  and  familiar,  as  if 
she  were  taking  final  farewell  of  a  friend.  Then  she  turned 
to  the  homely  kitchen  to  which  she  had  first  been  brought. 
"I  can  do  a  little  more  for  him,"  she  thought,  "before  I 
make  the  last  sacrifice  which  will  soon  bring  the  end.  I 
think  I  could  have  lived — lived,  perhaps,  till  I  was  old,  if 
I  had  gone  among  strangers  from  the  almshouse,  but  I  can't 
now.  My  heart  is  broken.  Now  that  I've  seen  that  man 
again  I  understand  why  my  husband  cannot  love  me.  Even 
the  thought  of  touching  me  must  make  him  shudder.  But 
I  can't  bear  up  under  such  a  load  much  longer  and  that's 
my  comfort.  It's  best  I  should  go  away  now;  I  couldn't 
do  otherwise,"  and  the  tragedy  went  on  in  her  soul  as  she 
feebly  prepared  her  husband's  meal. 

At  last  Jane  came  in  with  her  basket  of  peas.  Her  face 
was  so  impassive  as  to  suggest  that  she  had  no  knowledge 
of  anything  except  that  there  had  been  a  visitor,  and  Alida 
had  sunk  into  such  depths  of  despairing  sorrow  that  she 
scarcely  noticed  the  child. 


310  HE   FELL   IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

FEOM  YOU?" 


HOLCROFT  soon  came  driving  slowly  up  the  lane  as  if 
nothing  unusual  was  on  his  mind.  Having  tied  his 
horses,  he  brought  in  an  armful  of  bundles  and  said, 
kindly,  "Well,  Alida,  here  I  am  again,  and  I  guess  I've 
brought  enough  to  last  well  through  haying  time." 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  with  averted  face.  This  did  not 
trouble  him  any  now,  but  her  extreme  pallor  did  and  he 
added,  "You  don't  look  well.  I  wouldn't  mind  getting  much 
supper  to-night.  Let  Jane  do  the  work." 

"I'd  rather  do  it,"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  well"  —  laughing  pleasantly  —  "you  shall  have  your 
own  way.  Who  has  a  better  right  than  you,  I'd  like  to 
know?" 

"Don't  speak  that  way,"  she  said  almost  harshly,  under 
the  tension  of  her  feelings.  "I  —  I  can't  stand  it.  Speak 
and  look  as  you  did  before  you  went  away." 

"Jane,"  said  the  farmer,  "go  and  gather  the  eggs." 

As  soon  as  they  were  alone,  he  began  gently,  "Alida"  — 

"Please  don't  speak  so  to  me  to-day.  I've  endured  all  I 
can.  I  can't  keep  up  another  minute  unless  you  let  things 
go  on  as  they  were.  To-morrow  I'll  try  to  tell  you  all.  It's 
your  right." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  say  anything  myself  till  after  supper 
and  perhaps  not  till  to-morrow,  but  I  think"  I'd  better.  It 
will  be  better  for  us  both  and  our  minds  will  be  more  at 
rest.  Come  with  me  into  the  parlor,  Alida." 


"SHRINK   FROM    YOU?"  311 

"Well,  perhaps  the  sooner  it's  over  the  better,"  she  said, 
faintly  and  huskily. 

She  sunk  on  the  lounge  and  looked  at  him  with  such 
despairing  eyes  that  tears  came  into  his  own. 

"Alida,"  he  began  hesitatingly,  "after  I  left  you  this 
noon  I  felt  I  must  speak  with  and  be  frank  with  you." 

"Xo,  no,"  she  cried,  with  an  imploring  gesture,  "if  it 
must  be  said,  let  me  say  it.  I  couldn't  endure  to  hear  it 
from  you.  Before  you  went  away  I  understood  it  all,  and 
this  afternoon  the  truth  has  been  burned  into  my  soul.  That 
horrible  man  has  been  here — the  man  I  thought  my  hus- 
band— and  he  has  made  it  clearer,  if  possible.  I  don't 
blame  you  that  you  shrink  from  me  as  if  I  were  a  leper.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  one." 

"7  shrink  from  you!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes.  Can  you  think  I  haven't  seen  the  repugnance 
'growing  in  spite  of  yourself  2  When  I  thought  of  that  man 
— especially  when  he  came  to-day — I  understood  why  too 
well.  I  cannot  stay  here  any  longer.  You'd  try  to  be  kind 
and  considerate,  but  I'd  know  how  you  felt  all  the  time.  It 
would  not  be  safe  for  you  and  it  would  not  be  right  for  me 
to  stay,  either,  and  that  settles  it.  Be — be  as  kind  to  me — 
as  you  can  a  few — a  few  hours  longer  and  then  let  me  go 
quietly."  Her  self-control  gave  way,  and  burying  her  face 
in  her  hands,  she  sobbed  convulsively. 

In  a  moment  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  her,  with  his  arm 
about  her  waist.  "Alida,  dear  Alida,"  he  cried,  "we've 
both  been  in  the  dark  about  each  other.  What  I  resolved 
to  do  when  I  started  for  town  was  to  tell  you  that  I  had 
learned  to  love  you  and  to  throw  myself  on  your  mercy.  I 
thought  you  saw  that  I  was  loving  you  and  that  you  couldn't 
bear  to  think  of  such  a  thing  in  an  old,  homely  fellow  like 
me.  That  was  all  that  was  in  my  mind,  so  help  me  God!" 

"But — but  he's  been  here,"  she  faltered,  "you  don't 
realize — " 

"I  don't  believe  I  do  or  can,  yet,  Alida  dear,  but  that 
blessed  Jane's  spying  trait  has  served  me  the  best  turn  in 


312  HE   FELL    IN  LOVE    WITH  HIS    WIFE 

the  world.  She  heard  every  brave  word  you  said  and  I  shed 
tears  of  joy  when  she  told  me ;  and  tears  are  slow  coming  to 
my  eyes.  You  think  I  shrink  from  you,  do  you?"  and  he 
kissed  her  hands  passionately.  "See,"  he  cried,  "I  kneel  to 
you  in  gratitude  for  all  you've  been  to  me  and  are  to  me." 

"Oh,  James,  please  rise.     It's  too  much." 

"Xo,  not  till  you  promise  to  go  with  me  to  a  minister  and 
hear  me  promise  to  love,  cherish — yes,  in  your  case  I'll  prom- 
ise to  obey." 

She  bowed  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  in  answer.  Spring- 
ing up,  he  clasped  her  close  and  kissed  away  her  tears  as  he 
exclaimed,  "j$To  more  business  marriage  for  me,  if  you  please. 
There  never  was  a  man  so  in  love  with  his  wife." 

Suddenly  she  looked  up  and  said,  fearfully,  "James,  he 
threatened  you.  He  said  you'd  never  be  safe  a  moment  as 
long  as  I  stayed  here." 

His  answer  was  a  peal  of  laughter.  "I've  done  more  than 
threaten  him.  I've  whipped  him  within  an  inch  of  his 
life,  and  it  was  the  thought  of  you  that  led  me,  in  my  rage,  to 
spare  his  life.  I'll  tell  you  all — I'm  going  to  tell  you  every- 
thing now.  How  much  trouble  I  might  have  saved  if  I  had 
told  you  my  thoughts.  What  was  there,  Alida,  in  an  old  fel- 
low like  me  that  led  you  to  care  so  ?" 

Looking  up  shyly,  she  replied,  "I  think  it  was  the  man 
in  you — and — then  you  stood  up  for  me  so." 

"Well,  love  is  blind,  I  suppose,  but  it  don't  seem  to  me 
that  mine  is.  There  never  was  a  man  so  taken  in  at  his  mar- 
riage. You  were  so  different  from  what  I  expected  that  I 
began  loving  you  before  I  knew  it,  but  I  thought  you  were 
good  to  me  just  as  you  were  to  Jane — from  a  sense  of  duty 
— and  that  you  couldn't  abide  me  personally.  So  I  tried 
to  keep  out  of  your  way.  And,  Alida  dear,  I  thought  at  first 
that  I  was  taken  by  your  good  traits  and  your  education  and 
all  that,  but  I  found  out  at  last  that  I  had  fallen  in  love  with 
you.  Now  you  know  all.  You  feel  better  now,  don't  you  2" 

"Yes,"  she  breathed  softly. 

"You've  had  enough  to  wear  a  saint  out,"  he  continued, 


"SHRINK    FROM    YOU  f  313 

kindly.  "Lie  down  on  the  lounge  and  I'll  bring  your  sup- 
per to  you." 

"No,  please.  It  will  do  me  more  good  to  go  on  and  act  as 
if  nothing  had  happened." 

"Well,  have  your  own  way,  little  wife.  You're  boss  now, 
sure  enough." 

She  drew  him  to  the  porch  and  together  they  looked 
upon  the  June  landscape  which  she  had  regarded  with  such 
despairing  eyes  an  hour  before. 

"Happiness  never  kills,  after  all,"  she  said. 

"Shouldn't  be  alive  if  it  did,"  he  replied.  "The  birds 
seem  to  sing  as  if  they  knew." 

Jane  emerged  from  the  barn  door  with  a  basket  of  eggs 
and  Alida  sped  away  to  meet  her.  The  first  thing  the  child 
knew  the  arms  of  her  mistress  were  about  her  neck  and  she 
was  kissed  again  and  again. 

"What  did  you  do  that  for  ?"  she  asked. 

"You'll  understand  some  day." 

"Say,"  said  Jane,  in  an  impulse  of  good-will,  "if  you're 
only  half  married  to  Mr.  Holcroft,  I'd  go  the  whole  figure, 
'fi's  you.  If  you'd  a-seen  him  a-thrashin'  that  scamp  you'd 
know  he's  the  man  to  take  care  of  you." 

"Yes,  Jane,  I  know.     He'll  take  care  of  me  always." 

The  next  morning  Holcroft  and  Alida  drove  to  town  and 
went  to  the  church  which  she  and  her  mother  used  to  attend. 
After  the  service,  they  followed  the  clergyman  home,  where 
Alida  again  told  him  her  story,  though  not  without  much 
help  from  the  farmer.  After  some  kindly  reproach  that  she 
had  not  brought  her  troubles  to  him  at  first,  the  minister 
performed  a  ceremony  which  found  deep  echoes  in  both 
their  hearts. 

Time  and  right,  sensible  living  soon  remove  prejudice 
from  the  hearts  of  the  good  and  stop  the  mouths  of  the  cyni- 
cal and  scandal-loving.  Alida's  influence,  and  the  farmer's 
broadening  and  more  unselfish  views,  gradually  brought  him 
into  a  better  understanding  of  his  faith,  and  into  a  kinder 
sympathy  and  charity  for  his  neighbors  than  he  had  ever 


814  HE   FELL    IN   LOVE    WITH   HIS    WIFE 

known.  His  relations  to  the  society  of  which  he  was  a  part 
became  natural  and  friendly,  and  his  house  a  pretty  and  a 
hospitable  home.  Even  Mrs.  Watterly  eventually  entered 
its  portals.  She  and  others  were  compelled  to  agree  with 
Watterly,  that  Alida  was  not  of  the  "common  sort,"  and  that 
the  happiest  good  fortune  which  could  befall  any  man  had 
come  to  Holcroft  when  he  fell  in  love  with  his  wife. 


THE    END 


E.   P.   ROE 

REMINISCENCES   OF    HIS   LIFE 


COPYRIGHT,  i899 
BY  DODD,  MEAD,  &  COMPANY. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    I 
BOYHOOD  AND  COLLEGE  DAYS     .........  321 

CHAPTEK     II 
LIFE  AS  CHAPLAIN     ............  329 

CHAPTEK    in 
A  WINTER  CAMP   .............  347 

CHAPTEK     IV 
MARRIAGE  —  THE  KAID  TOWARD  KICHMOND  ....  358 

CHAPTER     V 
HAMPTON  HOSPITAL    ............  366 

CHAPTER    VI 
THE  HOSPITAL  FARM  AND  CHAPEL  .......  376 

CHAPTER    VII 
PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS     .......  382 


CHAPTER 
RESIGNATION  FROM  THE  MINISTRY  .......  397 

CHAPTER    IX 

FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY  WORK    .....  401 

(317) 


318  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    X 
HOME  LIFE 410 

CHAPTER    XI 
SANTA  BARBARA 421 

CHAPTER   XII 
RETURN  TO  CORNWALL — LETTERS 438 

CHAPTER    XIII 
LAST  BOOK — DEATH 446 

CHAPTER    XIV 
AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.  P.  ROE'S  BOOKS 461 

CHAPTER   XV 

THE  TABLET  AND  MEMORIAL  ADDRESS  .  469 


INTRODUCTORY   NOTE 


SINCE  the  death  of  Edward  Payson  Roe,  in  1888,  there 
have  been  inquiries  from  time  to  time  for  some  record  of  his 
life  and  work,  and  it  is  in  response  to  these  repeated  requests 
that  this  volume  is  issued.  While  necessarily  omitting  much 
that  is  of  too  personal  a  nature  for  publication,  the  editor  has 
allowed  the  subject  of  these  Reminiscences  to  speak  for  him- 
self as  far  as  possible,  although  it  has  been  thought  advisable 
to  introduce  here  and  there  various  papers  from  outside 
sources  that  seem  to  throw  additional  light  upon  his  char- 
acter. It  is  believed  that  in  this  way  a  clearer  picture  may 
be  given  than  would  otherwise  be  obtained  of  the  life  of  one 
who  was,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  American  author  of  his 
generation.  The  editor's  own  part  of  the  work  has  been  con- 
fined to  a  simple  statement  of  facts  and  to  supplying  connect- 
ing links,  when  such  seemed  needed,  between  the  various 
letters  and  papers. 

Thanks  are  due,  and  are  hereby  offered,  to  all  wLo  have 
kindly  contributed  material  or  in  other  ways  assisted  in  the 
preparation  of  this  volume. 


IW 


E.  P.  ROE 

REMINISCENCES   OF   HIS   LIFE 

CHAPTER    I 

BOYHOOD    AND    COLLEGE    DAYS 

Y  brother  Edward  and  I  were  the  youngest  of  six  chil- 
dren, and  as  he  was  my  senior  by  but  a  few  years 
we  were  playmates  and  almost  inseparable  compan- 
ions in  our  childhood. 

We  were  born  in  a  roomy  old-fashioned  house,  built  by 
my  mother's  father  for  his  oldest  son,  but  purchased  by  my 
father  when  he  retired  from  business  in  New  York.  A  more 
ideal  home  for  a  happy  childhood  could  not  easily  be  found. 
It  stood  near  the  entrance  of  a  beautiful  valley  through  which 
flowed  a  clear  stream,  and  was  wind-sheltered  by  high  bluffs, 
yet  commanded  fine  views  of  the  mountains  with  glimpses  of 
the  Hudson  showing  like  lakes  between  them. 

What  we  called  the  "side-hill,"  back  of  the  house,  was  our 
chief  playground.  My  brother  delighted  in  climbing  the 
hickory  and  chestnut  trees  that  grew  upon  it,  and  it  was  here 
in  spring  that  we  searched  for  wild  flowers,  from  the  little 
hepaticas  just  peeping  above  the  snow,  to  the  laurel  in  its 
full  glory.  In  after  years  Edward  never  visited  the  old 
home  without  a  tramp  to  the  top  of  that  side-hill  or  along 
the  wood-road  at  its  base. 

Our  mother  was  always  an  invalid,  and  the  housekeeper, 
Betsey  Williams,  who  was  a  member  of  our  family  for  many 
years,  became  like  a  second  mother  to  us  in  her  care  and  de- 
votion. But  she  was  no  disciplinarian,  and  I  have  heard 

(321) 


322  BOYHOOD    AMD    COLLEGE    DAYS 

that  when  Edward  was  in  a  childish  passion  and  she  felt 
unable  to  cope  with  the  situation  she  would  pick  him  up 
bodily  and  carry  him  to  my  mother's  couch.  There  he  would 
sit  beside  her,  not  daring  to  move  until  he  could  promise 
obedience,  held  spellbound  by  the  authority  in  her  keen  black 
eyes,  though  she  was  too  weak  to  raise  her  hand  to  her  head. 

Edward's  love  of  nature  was  inherited  from  both  father 
and  mother.  Often,  on  lovely  June  days,  he  would  draw 
mother's  wheeled  chair  through  the  broad  walks  of  our  large 
square  garden,  where  the  borders  on  either  side  were  gorgeous 
with  flowers,  while  I  gathered  and  piled  the  fragrant  blos- 
soms on  her  lap  until  she  was  fairly  embowered.  Yet  one 
scarcely  missed  those  that  were  plucked. 

Back  of  the  garden  ran  a  clear  brook,  the  overflow  from 
a  spring  of  soft,  cool  water  at  the  base  of  the  side-hill,  and  in 
it  we  often  played  and  tumbled,  soaking  and  soiling  many  a 
fresh  clean  suit. 

As  is  usually  the  case  with  younger  sisters,  I  always  fol- 
lowed my  brother's  lead,  and  one  summer  day's  adventure  in 
particular  stands  clearly  in  my  memory.  We  little  children 
had  started  off  with  the  avowed  intention  of  looking  for  wild 
strawberries.  We  had  secretly  planned  to  visit  the  old  house 
where  my  mother  was  born,  which  was  some  distance  further 
up  the  valley  and  at  that  time  was  unoccupied,  but  we 
thought  it  best  not  to  make  any  announcement  of  this  project 
in  advance. 

Edward  had  heard  that  in  the  cellar  there  was  a  stone 
vault  in  which  our  Grandfather  Williams  kept  the  money 
that  General  Washington  had  intrusted  to  his  care  until  it 
was  required  to  pay  off  the  soldiers  of  the  Revolution  while 
they  were  encamped  near  Newburgh.  Edward  was  eager 
to  visit  the  cellar,  thinking  that  possibly  there  might  still  be 
a  few  coins  left.  We  entered  the  empty  house  by  a  back 
door  and  wandered  through  the  rooms,  he  entertaining  me 
the  while  with  stories  mother  had  told  him  of  her  childhood 
there. 

Then  we  timidly  groped  our  way  down  into  the  large  eel- 


BOYHOOD    AND    COLLEGE   DAYS  323 

lar  and  found  the  stone  vault — but  it  was  filled  only  with 
cobwebs  and  dust ! 

When  we  came  out  and  stood  in  the  great  kitchen  Edward 
told  me  another  Revolutionary  story  connected  with  the  spot 
in  our  great-grandmother's  day. 

A  company  of  British  soldiers  had  been  quartered  upon 
the  family,  and  the  old  kitchen  swarmed  with  redcoats  and 
negro  servants,  for  those  were  still  days  of  slavery  in  the 
North.  Grandmother  Brewster,  who  was  a  notable  cook,  had 
just  placed  in  the  heated  brick  oven  a  large  baking  of  bread, 
pies,  and  cake.  One  of  the  soldiers  asked  her  if  they  could 
have  these  good  things  provided  they  could  take  them  away 
without  her  knowledge,  but  while  she  was  in  the  kitchen. 
She,  believing  this  impossible,  said  yes.  He  waited  until 
everything  was  removed  from  the  oven  and  placed  upon  a 
large  table  to  cool.  Suddenly  a  quarrel  arose  between  several 
of  the  soldiers  and  one  of  her  favorite  colored  boys.  Fearing 
the  lad  would  be  killed,  she  rushed  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd 
and  at  length  succeeded  in  stopping  the  fight.  When  at  last 
peace  and  quiet  were  restored,  she  turned  round  to  find  her 
morning's  baking  gone — and  in  a  moment  she  understood 
the  ruse  they  had  practiced  upon  her. 

As  Edward  talked  the  whole  story  seemed  very  real  to  us, 
but  when  he  had  finished  we  walked  up  to  the  old  oven,  and 
looking  into  its  cavernous  depths  he  said:  "That's  here  and 
the  stone  vault  down  cellar,  but  all  those  people  are  dead  and 
gone.  How  strange  and  lonely  it  seems!  Let's  go." 

Then  we  hurried  off  to  a  field  near  by  which  we  called 
"the  rose-patch."  Not  far  from  this. spot  stood  formerly  an 
old  mill  where  snuff  was  manufactured,  and  the  rose-bushes 
that  in  bygone  days  had  yielded  their  blossoms  to  scent  the 
snuff  were  still  living  and  flowering.  But  among  the  roses 
was  an  abundance  of  wild  strawberries,  and  the  two  children 
soon  lost  all  thoughts  of  the  past  in  their  enjoyment  of  the 
luscious  fruit.  But  the  old  deserted  house  with  its  Revolu- 
tionary associations  never  ceased  to  have  great  attractions 
for  us.  Across  the  road  from  it,  and  nearer  the  creek,  was 


324  BOYHOOD    AND    COLLEGE    DAYS 

a  mound  of  cinders  marking  the  spot  where  once  stood  the 
forge  upon  which  our  grandfather  wrought  the  great  iron 
chain  which  was  stretched  across  the  Hudson  for  the  purpose 
of  keeping  British  ships  from  sailing  beyond  it.  Some  links 
of  this  chain  are  now  kept  as  relics  in  the  Washington 
"Headquarters"  at  JSTewburgh. 

In  later  years,  Edward  planned  to  write  a  story  entitled 
"The  Fair  Captives  of  Brooklyn  Heights/'  embodying  some 
incidents  in  the  lives  of  our  Grandfather  Williams'  sisters, 
who  lived  there  with  their  widowed  mother.  During  the 
Revolution  a  number  of  British  officers  installed  themselves 
at  her  house,  and  the  old  lady  promptly  locked  up  her  daugh- 
ters in  order  to  prevent  any  possible  love-making.  One  of 
the  girls  eluded  her  vigilance,  however,  married  an  officer, 
and  fled  with  him  to  Canada.  She  returned  after  the  war 
was  over,  but  her  mother,  who  had  never  forgiven  the  de- 
ception, refused  to  receive  her,  and  she  and  her  husband  went 
to  England  to  live. 

In  our  home  at  Moodna  was  always  to  be  found  a  gen- 
erous hospitality.  Among  our  most  loved  and  honored 
guests  was  Dr.  Samuel  Cox,  who  was  for  many  years  a 
prominent  clergyman  in  New  York  and  Brooklyn.  My 
father  had  been  a  member  of  his  church  and  they  were  life- 
long friends.  Often,  in  summer,  he  and  his  family  spent 
weeks  at  a  time  with  us,  and  we  children,  as  well  as  our 
elders,  were  always  charmed  listeners  to  his  conversation. 
He  had  a  fine  memory,  and  it  was  remarkably  well  stored 
with  classic  poetry.  Sometimes  he  would  entertain  us  with 
selections  from  the  "Iliad,"  but  more  often,  when  other 
guests  were  present  and  Edward  and  I  were  seated  on  the 
piazza  steps,  on  warm  moonlight  evenings,  he  would  repeat 
whole  cantos  from  "Marmion"  or  "Lady  of  the  Lake,"  or  per- 
haps some  fine  passages  from  "Paradise  Lost." 

At  times  the  conversation  would  turn  upon  ancient  his- 
tory, and  I  remember  on  one  occasion  he  asked  Edward  and 
me  if  we  could  give  him  the  names  of  the  first  Roman  trium- 
virate. At  this  period  of  our  existence  the  name  "Caesar" 


BOYHOOD    AND    COLLEGE   DAYS  325 

was  associated  exclusively  with  an  old  colored  man  whom  we 
often  visited  and  who  lived  upon  a  lonely  road  which  is  still 
called  "Caesar's  Lane."  We  were  vastly  astonished,  there- 
fore, to  learn  that  the  name  had  ever  been  borne  by  any  more 
illustrious  personage  than  our  dusky  friend.  But  we  lis- 
tened, entranced,  while  the  doctor  told  of  the  rivalries  and 
conflicts  of  those  two  great  generals,  Csesar  and  Pompey,  for 
the  empire  of  the  world.  He  could  not  remember  the  name  of 
the  third  triumvir,  and  it  troubled  him  greatly.  That  night, 
about  two  o'clock,  I  was  startled  by  a  loud  knock  at  my  bed- 
room door,  and  Dr.  Cox  called  out,  "Mary,  are  you  awake  ?" 
I  replied  that  I  was — as,  indeed,  was  every  one  else  in  the 
house  by  that  time.  "It's  Crassus,"  he  said,  then  returned 
to  his  room  greatly  relieved  that  he  had  finally  recalled  the 
name.  Edward  and  I  never  forgot  our  first  lessson  in  Ro- 
man History. 

This  learned  clergyman  was  often  very  absent-minded. 
During  one  of  his  visits  to  us  he  had  been  for  a  drive  with 
his  wife  and  our  mother.  On  their  return  he  stopped  at  the 
horse-block,  near  where  Edward  and  I  were  playing,  threw 
down  the  reins,  and,  engrossed  in  some  train  of  thought, 
walked  into  the  house,  utterly  forgetful  of  the  ladies  on  the 
back  seat.  They,  very  much  amused,  continued  their  con- 
versation and  waited  to  see  if  he  would  remember  them. 
Finally,  however,  as  he  did  not  reappear,  Edward  was  called 
to  assist  them  from  the  carriage  and  unharness  the  horse. 
Some  time  afterward  the  doctor  rushed  out  of  the  front  door 
and  around  the  house,  having  just  remembered  where  he  left 
the  companions  of  his  drive. 

The  first  school  Edward  and  I  attended  was  a  private  one 
for  boys  and  girls  kept  by  our  eldest  brother,  Alfred,  in  the 
village  of  Canterbury,  two  miles  distant  from  our  home.  We 
trudged  over  the  hills  together  on  pleasant  days  and  drove 
over  when  the  weather  was  stormy.  I  well  remember  the  ab- 
normal interest  we  felt  in  the  health  of  an  aunt  of  ours  who 
lived  near  the  school  and  who  had  some  fine  fruit  trees  on  her 
place.  After  our  inquiries  in  regard  to  her  welfare  had 


326  BOYHOOD    AND    COLLEGE   DAYS 

been  answered  she  was  sure  to  invite  us  to  examine  the 
ground  beneath  those  trees,  while  the  merry  twinkle  in  her 
eyes  showed  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  our  devotion  to  her 
was  not  altogether  disinterested. 

Of  my  brother's  later  school  and  college  days,  the  Rev. 
A.  Moss  Merwin,  now  of  Pasadena,  California,  writes : — 

"It  was  at  Cornwall-on-the-Hudson  I  first  met  Edward, 
a  fellow  student  in  his  brother  Alfred's  classical  school.  His 
face  and  manners  were  attractive,  and  intellectually  he 
ranked  high  among  his  companions.  Well  informed  as  to 
current  events,  with  a  wider  knowledge  of  books  than  is  usual 
with  young  men  of  his  years,  and  with  great  facility  in  ex- 
pressing his  thoughts  orally  and  in  writing,  he  commanded 
our  respect  from  the  first.  And  when  we  saw  from  time  to 
time  articles  from  his  pen  in  the  New  York  Evangelist  de- 
scriptive of  stirring  events,  our  respect  grew  into  admiration 
for  him  who  was  facile  princeps  in  our  small  literary  world. 
Then  as  we  came  to  know  something  of  his  kindness  of  heart 
and  enthusiasm  for  the  good  and  true  we  loved  him. 

"His  particular  friends  among  the  boarding  pupils  en- 
joyed the  privilege  of  being  invited  occasionally  to  the  hos- 
pitable home  of  his  parents.  •  What  a  home  it  was !  Abun- 
dant comfort  without  ostentation  or  luxury.  The  father  a 
retired  business  man,  kindly,  philanthropic,  and  an  ardent 
lover  of  plants  and  flowers.  The  mother  an  invalid  in  her 
wheeled  chair,  a  woman  with  sunshine  in  eye  and  voice,  of 
unusual  intelligence,  highly  cultivated,  with  charming  con- 
versational powers. 

"In  the  little  Presbyterian  church  near  the  school,  planted 
mainly  through  the  exertions  of  his  father  and  elder  brothers, 
there  came  a  time  of  special  religious  interest  when  Edward 
was  deeply  impressed.  With  loving  purpose  he  sought  out 
two  of  his  most  intimate  companions,  and  through  his  instru- 
mentality they  then  began  the  Christian  life.  One  became  a 
successful  business  man  in  Chicago,  and  to  the  day  of  his 
death  remembered  with  gratitude  the  helping  hand  and  ear- 
nest words  of  E.  P.  Roe.  The  other  friend  remembers  that 


BOYHOOD    AND    COLLEGE   DAYS  .        327 

soon  after  that  decision,  when  he  and  Edward  were  walking 
through  the  grounds  of  the  Friends'  meeting-house,  they 
covenanted  together  to  study  for  the  ministry. 

"We  were  together  again  preparing  for  college  at  Burr 
and  Burton  Seminary,  Manchester,  Vermont.  How  enthu- 
siastic he  was  over  the  beautiful  scenery  of  that  now  far- 
famed  summer  resort  in  the  Green  Mountains !  How  de- 
lighted to  send  his  father  a  present  through  his  own  earnings 
by  sawing  several  cords  of  wood !" 

About  this  time  our  father's  property  in  New  York  City 
was  destroyed  by  fire,  and  owing  to  the  expense  of  rebuild- 
ing he  was  obliged  for  a  time  to  practice  close  economy.  But 
fortunately  it  was  not  found  necessary  to  take  any  of  his 
children  from  school  or  college.  To  quote  Mr.  Merwin 
further : — 

"At  Williams  College  we  saw  much  of  each  other. 
Roe  was  a  fair  scholar,  more  intent  at  getting  at  the  mean- 
ing of  the  text,  and  its  mythological  and  historical  rela- 
tions, than  in  making  what  is  called  a  fair  recitation.  His 
ability  as  a  writer  and  speaker  was  recognized  early  in  his 
college  course  when  elected  speaker  of  his  class  at  a  Wash- 
ington's Birthday  banquet.  Friends  he  easily  made,  and 
with  many  remained  in  pleasant  relations  to  the  close  of  his 
life.  Trouble  with  his  eyes  caused  him  to  shorten  his  course 
at  college,  but  the  authorities,  in  view  of  his  subsequent  suc- 
cess as  a  writer,  gave  him  his  diploma." 

My  brother  excelled  in  athletic  sports  in  his  youth,  par- 
ticularly in  swimming  and  skating.  On  one  occasion  when 
he  was  home  on  vacation,  he  and  a  young  companion  were 
skating  on  the  river.  His  friend,  who  was  skimming  along 
in  advance  of  him,  suddenly  fell  into  an  air-hole  and  sank 
out  of  sight.  Edward  instantly  realized  that  if  he  went  to 
the  spot  to  rescue  him,  he  also  would  break  through.  With 
quick  presence  of  mind,  therefore,  he  unwound  a  long  wor- 
sted muffler  from  his  neck  and  threw  one  end  of  it  into  the 
opening.  As  soon  as  the  struggling  boy  rose  to  the  surface, 
'Edward  shouted,  "Take  hold  of  that  tippet  and  I'll  pull  you 


328  BOYHOOD   AND    COLLEGE   DAYS 

out!"  His  friend  did  as  he  was  directed  and  Edward,  by 
exerting  all  his  strength,  succeeded  in  drawing  him  out  of  the 
water  and  upon  the  solid  ice,  fortunately  not  much  the  worse 
for  his  immersion. 

Adjoining  our  father's  property  was  that  of  Mr.  Nathan- 
iel Sands,  a  "Friend"  and  a  gentleman  in  all  that  the  words 
imply,  who  was  loved  and  respected  by  the  whole  community. 
His  residence  commanded  an  extended  view  of  the  river  and 
mountains  and  especially  of  the  narrow  Gap  of  the  High- 
lands. At  his  death  the  old  homestead  became  the  summer 
residence  of  his  eldest  son,  Dr.  David  Sands,  the  head  of  a 
well-known  firm  of  druggists  in  New  York. 

While  my  brother  was  at  the  theological  seminary,  and 
just  about  the  beginning  of  the  Civil  War,  he  became  en- 
gaged to  Dr.  Sands'  second  daughter,  Anna.  The  young 
people  had  known  each  other  from  childhood,  and  this  happy 
culmination  of  their  long  friendship  was  not  unexpected  by 
either  family. 


LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN  329 


CHAPTER  n 

LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN 

ONE  of  Edward's  schoolmates  at  Cornwall,  writing  of 
him,  said:  "We  met  again  on  a  most  memorable 
evening  in  the  early  days  of  the  war,  when  with  two 
young  ladies,  one  of  whom  became  his  wife,  we  rowed  out  on 
the  Hudson  River,  under  the  shadow  of  Storm  King,  while 
the  whole  sky  from  west  to  east  flamed  with  crimson-tinted 
clouds,  that  seemed  a  portent  of  the  scenes  to  follow.  When 
we  reached  the  dock  on  our  return  the  evening  papers 
brought  the  details  of  the  battle  of  Bull  Run,  fought  on  the 
previous  day." 

I  remember  Edward's  intense  excitement  on  his  return 
home  that  night,  and  his  remark  that  if  he  were  only 
through  his  seminary  course  he  would  join  the  army  as  chap- 
lain. From  that  time  I  believe  the  purpose  was  constantly 
in  his  mind;  and  the  next  year,  1862,  although  his  studies 
were  not  then  completed,  he  became  chaplain  of  the  famous 
Harris  Light  Cavalry,  under  the  command  of  the  gallant 
Kilpatrick,  later  Brigadier  and  Major-General,  who  was  al- 
ways my  brother's  firm  friend. 

The  following  testimony  to  Edward's  work  among  the 
soldiers  was  written  upon  the  field  by  a  correspondent  of  the 
New  York  "Tribune." 

"Chaplain  Roe,  of  the  Second  New  York  (Harris  Light) 
Cavalry,  is  a  man  whose  praises  are  in  the  mouth  of  every 
one  for  timely  and  efficient  services.  He  is  always  with  the 
regiment,  and  his  whole  time  is  devoted  to  the  temporal  and 
spiritual  welfare  of  the  men.  He  is  their  friend,  adviser, 


330  LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN 

and  counsellor,  and  commands  the  respect  of  all  who  know 
him — something  that  cannot  be  said  of  every  chaplain  in  the 
army." 

The  "Observer"  of  that  year  also  published  a  letter 
written  by  a  private  in  the  Harris  Light  Cavalry  to  his  par- 
ents. In  it  is  found  this  reference  to  their  chaplain. 

"To-day  is  Sunday,  and,  as  a  great  exception,  it  has  ap- 
peared like  Sunday.  This  morning  we  had  service  at 
headquarters,  the  chaplain  of  our  regiment  officiating, 
and  I  think  I  can  safely  call  him  a  pious  army  chaplain, 
which  I  cannot  say  of  any  others  that  7  ever  knew;  and 
notwithstanding  the  little  respect  most  chaplains  have  shown 
to  them,  and  still  less  encouragement,  this  one,  by  his  mild, 
gentle,  manly,  humble,  and  Christian-like  demeanor,  has  won 
the  respect  of  all  with  whom  he  has  had  intercourse,  from 
the  most  profane  and  vulgar  to  the  most  gentlemanly,  which 
few  chaplains  have  been  able  to  do.  In  a  fight  he  is-  seen  en- 
couraging the  men;  in  the  hospital  administering  to  the  sol- 
dier's wants,  both  spiritually  and  bodily.  Last  winter,  dur- 
ing the  worst  days  of  a  Virginia  winter,  I  have  seen  him 
going  from  camp  to  camp,  distributing  his  books  and  papers; 
and  with  his  own  earnings  he  would  buy  delicacies  that  a 
poor  sick  soldier  would  otherwise  in  vain  long  for.  These 
and  other  innumerable  like  acts  have  gradually  caused  every 
one  to  at  least  respect  him,  and  some  to  love  him.  His  name 
is  Kev.  E.  P.  Koe,  Chaplain  Harris  Light  Cavalry.  I  have 
been  informed  that  he  had  just  graduated  when  he  came  into 

the  army.  I  think  Dr.  P may  know  him.  I  believe  he 

is  a  Presbyterian.  If  you  had  any  idea  what  a  chaplain  had 
to  contend  with,  in  order  to  lead  a  consistent  life,  you  might 
then  understand  why  I  speak  so  of  him.  S." 

While  with  this  regiment  Edward  acted  as  weekly  corre- 
spondent for  the  New  York  "Evangelist."  A  few  of  his  let- 
ters to  that  paper  are  here  reprinted,  in  the  hope  that  they 
may  still  be  found  of  interest.  They  are  characteristic  of  the 
writer  and  give  a  clearer  idea  of  his  life  at  this  time  than  can 
be  obtained  in  any  other  way. 


LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN  331 

"CAMP  HALL'S  HILL,  OCT.  15,  1862 

"MESSES.  EDITORS  : — Till  within  a  few  days  past  we 
have  been  enjoying  splendid  weather,  days  as  warm  and 
sunny  as  those  of  June,  and  moonlight  nights  so  clear  and 
beautiful  that  one  could  sit  at  his  tent  door  and  read  ordinary 
type  with  perfect  ease  and  pleasure.  Of  course  we  improved 
such  favorable  weather  and  held  our  prayer-meetings  nearly 
every  night.  I  shall  never  forget  one  religious  service  that 
we  had  last  week. 

"As  usual,  a  large  fire  was  kindled  in  front  of  the  chap- 
lain's tent,  and  the  men,  having  disposed  of  their  suppers, 
were  beginning  to  assemble.  Soon  the  musical  'church-call' 
sounded  to  hasten  the  lagging  ones,  and  by  the  time  our  exer- 
cises commenced  about  two  hundred  were  present.  Our 
meetings  are  of  a  free  and  general  character,  open  to  all  who 
are  willing  to  take  part  in  them.  We  commence  by  singing 
two  or  three  hymns  or  patriotic  songs  in  succession,  the  sound 
of  music  calling  the  men  together.  A  prayer  is  then  offered, 
after  which  I  endeavor  by  some  anecdote  or  illustration  to 
force  home  the  truth  and  necessity  of  a  Saviour  upon  the 
minds  of  those  present.  The  Christian  members  of  the  regi- 
ment then  follow  in  prayer,  singing,  and  exhortation,  till  we 
are  dispersed  by  the  roll-call.  We  have  interruptions  in  this, 
our  usual  programme,  of  such  a  nature,  and  with  such  fre- 
quency, that  we  have  great  reason  to  be  thankful  and  encour- 
aged. They  are  occasioned  by  the  stepping  forth  of  soldiers 
in  front  of  the  fire  who  have  hitherto  been  silent  in  our  meet- 
ings, and  who  either  ask  the  prayers  of  Christians  that  they 
may  be  led  to  the  Saviour,  or  calmly  and  firmly  state  their 
intention  to  enlist  under  the  banner  of  the  Cross,  and  urge 
their  comrades  to  do  likewise. 

"Toward  the  close  of  the  service  I  have  mentioned,  three 
young  men  rose  up  together,  and  calmly  and  firmly  one  after 
another  stated  their  resolution,  with  God's  help,  to  live  a 
Christian  life.  Oh  that  some  of  our  cold,  half-hearted  pro- 
fessors could  have  been  here  then.  Would  to  God  that  the 
voices  of  those  young  soldiers,  as  they  urged  with  simple  and 
earnest  eloquence  their  comrades  to  come  to  the  Saviour  like- 


332 

wise,  might  be  heard  throughout  all  the  churches  of  the 
North,  and  sound  in  every  prayer-meeting,  in  our  land. 
Such  earnest  tones  and  words  would  soon  disperse  the  moral 
and  religious  apathy  that  seems  to  reign  undisturbed  in  many 
localities,  for  they  would  prove  that  the  Spirit  of  God  was 
present.  It  was  a  scene  that  would  have  moved  the  coldest 
heart,  and  stirred  the  most  sluggish  nature.  The  starry  sky, 
the  full  moon  overhead  flooding  all  the  landscape  with  the 
softest  and  most  beautiful  radiance,  the  white  tents  covering 
the  hillsides,  the  large  fire  blazing  fitfully  up,  surrounded  by 
two  hundred  or  more  men  who  might  readily  be  taken  at  first 
glance  to  be  a  band  of  Spanish  brigands,  all  conspired  to  make 
a  picture  that  any  artist  would  wish  to  copy.  But  as  you 
listened  to  the  words  of  those  young  men,  and  the  earnest 
prayer  and  songs  of  praise  that  followed,  all  such  fanciful 
thoughts  of  banditti  and  romance  would  melt  away,  and  the 
strange,  peculiar  costume  of  those  present  would  become 
simply  the  ordinary  dress  that  the  rude  taste  or  necessity 
of  the  men  during  their  campaign  had  led  them  to  assume, 
and  the  dark-bearded  faces,  made  still  more  sombre  and  sinis- 
ter by  the  partial  light,  would  resolve  themselves  into  the 
bronzed,  honest  features  of  our  American  soldiers,  now  ex- 
pressive of  solemn  thought  and  feeling.  Never  was  a  sound 
more  unwelcome  and  discordant  than  the  roll-call  which  broke 
up  that  assembly. 

"After  the  roll-call  a  group  generally  lingers  around  the 
fire,  and  I  often  find  in  it  those  who  wish  to  be  spoken  with 
on  the  subject  of  religion.  So  it  happened  this  night.  A 
soldier  chanced  to  be  passing  by  our  encampment,  and,  at- 
tracted by  the  sound  of  music,  stopped  at  our  meeting.  A 
few  days  before  he  had  received  a  letter  from  home  stating 
that  his  mother  was  very  ill  and  not  expected  to  live  many 
days.  He  knew  he  should  never  see  her  again,  and  his  heart 
was  tender  and  sad.  Thus  prepared  for  the  truth  by  the 
Providence  of  God,  his  steps  were  directed  to  us,  and  as  he 
eat  there  and  listened  to  those  three  young  men  as  they  stated 
their  resolution  from  thenceforth  to  serve  God,  he  too  re- 


LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN  333 

solved  to  be  a  Christian,  and  has  since  found  peace  in  believ- 
ing. I  told  him  how  our  prayer-meeting  had  been  started 
by  two  or  three  Christian  soldiers  meeting  openly  for  prayer, 
and  that  the  same  happy  state  of  things  might  be  brought 
about  in  his  regiment  in  a  similar  manner.  He  promised  that 
the  prayer-meeting  should  be  commenced. 

"The  18th  of  this  month  (October)  was  as  beautiful  and 
bright  a  Sabbath  morning  as  ever  dawned  on  Virginia. 
Though  the  day  and  all  nature  spoke  of  peace,  yet  men 
would  not  hearken,  for  it  was  soon  evident  that  our  brief  re- 
pose was  again  to  be  broken.  The  Third  Division  of  cavalry 
was  encamped  on  the  northwestern  edge  of  the  old  Bull  Run 
battlefield.  The  day  before  we  occupied  the  battlefield  it- 
self. The  earlier  part  of  the  day  was  spent  by  the  different 
regiments  in  preparing  to  march,  and  by  noon  the  concentra- 
tion of  the  entire  command  began.  Distant  outposts,  regi- 
ments on  picket,  and  scouting  parties  were  drawn  in,  and  soon 
after  the  battle-flags  of  General  Kilpatrick,  General  Davies, 
and  General  Custer  were  seen  fluttering  through  forests  or 
over  hills  in  the  direction  of  the  Warrenton  and  Alexandria 
pike.  Following  them  were  long  lines  of  cavalry  and  artil- 
lery, and  above  all,  a  bright  October  sun  that  gave  to  the 
scene  anything  but  the  grimness  of  war.  As  evening  ap- 
proached we  came  out  on  Warrenton  pike.  General  Davies' 
brigade  had  the  advance,  and  part  of  the  Harris  Light  Cav- 
alry was  thrown  out  as  skirmishers.  It  soon  struck  the 
enemy's  pickets,  and  then  a  running  fight  was  kept  up  un- 
til within  a  short  distance  of  Gainesville.  Our  flying  artil- 
lery took  advantage  of  every  high  position  to  send  a  shell 
shrieking  after  the  enemy.  It  was  now  dark  night.  The 
head  of  our  column  had  advanced  up  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  point  where  the  railroad  crossed  the  pike  before  enter- 
ing the  village.  For  a  short  time  there  had  been  an  ominous 
silence  on  the  part  of  the  rebels,  and  it  became  necessary  to 
send  forward  part  of  the  Harris  Light  Cavalry  to  find  what 
had  become  of  them.  The  detachment  moved  on  to  cross  the 
railroad  embankment,  when  suddenly,  from  over  its  top,  at 


334  LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN 

a  given  signal,  a  line  of  fire  at  least  three  hundred  yards  long 
flashed  out  into  the  night,  and  a  perfect  storm  of  bullets 
rained  over  their  heads.  Fortunately  the  enemy  fired  too 
high  to  do  much  execution,  and  only  a  few  were  wounded. 
Our  boys  returned  the  volley,  and  then  retired  to  a  small 
piece  of  woods,  and  for  a  time  a  hot  skirmish  was  maintained. 
Having  no  knowledge  of  the  force  that  might  be  concealed 
in  the  place,  and  the  position  being  too  strong  to  be  carried 
by  a  night  assault,  further  operations  were  deferred  till 
morning.  The  1st  Virginia  were  left  on  picket  close  to  the 
enemy  and  the  rest  of  the  command  fell  somewhat  back  and 
went  into  camp. 

"To  one  not  familiar  with  army  life  in  the  field,  our 
mode  of  encamping  that  night  would  have  been  extremely 
interesting  and  suggestive.  We  were  in  the  face  of  the 
enemy,  which  is  no  place  for  careless  security.  Each  bri- 
gade was  placed  by  itself,  supporting  the  batteries  which  were 
put  in  position  ready  to  be  used  at  a  moment's  notice.  The 
horses  of  each  regiment  were  drawn  up  in  ranks  and  tied  to 
stakes  driven  into  the  ground  for  the  purpose.  Each  man 
slept  at  the  head  of  his  horse,  which  he  kept  saddled,  and 
part  of  the  time  bridled.  Within  three  minutes  the  entire 
division  could  have  been  out  in  line  of  battle.  I  have  known 
our  regiment  to  saddle  their  horses,  lead  out  from  the  woods, 
form  ranks,  count  four  and  stand  ready  to  charge  into  any- 
thing that  might  oppose,  within  just  three  minutes  by  the 
watch.  In  the  rear  of  this  warlike  array  the  ammunition 
wagons  and  ambulances  were  parked  in  regular  order,  the 
team  horses  standing  ready  harnessed.  Thus  Kilpatrick's 
little  fighting  division  lay  there  that  night  like  a  panther 
crouched  ready  to  spring.  During  the  night  wagons  came 
up  with  rations,  which  were  soon  distributed.  The  group- 
ings around  the  fires,  after  this,  were  picturesque  in  the  ex- 
treme. Some  of  the  men,  shrouded  in  their  great  military 
overcoats,  stood  quietly  warming  themselves,  throwing  out 
immense  shadows  that  stretched  away  till  lost  in  the  sur- 
rounding darkness.  The  dusky  forms  of  others  might  be 


LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN  335 

seen  passing  to  and  fro  in  the  preparation  of  their  rude  meal 
of  fried  pork  and  hardtack,  while  the  flickering  blaze  re- 
vealed the  burly  forms  of  a  still  greater  number  reposing 
upon  the  ground  in  all  varieties  of  attitude.  At  last  the  en- 
tire division,  except  the  vigilant  pickets  and  sentinels,  was 
wrapped  in  slumber.  At  four  o'clock  the  bugle  sounded  re- 
veille, and  the  camp  was  soon  all  astir.  Soon  after  we  saw  a 
flash  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy,  and  listened  breathlessly 
a  moment  for  the  report  of  rebel  cannon,  but  the  long  inter- 
val and  distant  heavy  rumble  that  followed  satisfied  us  that 
a  storm  other  than  that  of  war  was  about  to  break  over  us; 
and  soon  it  came,  with  high  cold  winds  and  drenching  rain. 
As  we  cowered  around  our  smoking,  dying  fires  in  the  dim 
twilight  of  that  wild  October  morning — ah !  then  we  thought 
of  being  tucked  away  in  snug  feather-beds  under  the  old  roof- 
tree  at  home ;  but  there  was  no  repining,  though  we  all  knew 
that  on  the  coming  night  many  would  sleep  colder  than  ever 
before — so  cold  that  nothing  but  the  breath  of  God  could 
give  warmth  again. 

"But  we  were  not  long  left  to  reflection  of  any  kind, 
for  regiment  after  regiment  now  began  to  take  position  upon 
the  line  of  march.  General  Ouster's  brigade  had  the  ad- 
vance. Soon  scattering  shots  and  an  occasional  boom  of  a 
cannon  told  us  that  we  had  again  found  the  enemy.  But  no 
stand  was  made  until  we  reached  Broad  Run,  and  there  the 
firing  became  rapid  and  sharp.  Our  brigade  now  came  up 
and  was  placed  in  position,  and  the  battle  became  general. 
Every  now  and  then  a  shell  would  whiz  over  our  heads  and 
explode,  inspiring  anything  but  agreeable  emotions.  Sev- 
eral charges  were  made  on  both  sides.  I  wonder  if  it  is  pos- 
sible to  give  any  idea  of  a  rebel  charge.  Their  cries  and 
yells  are  so  peculiar,  so  wild,  shrill,  feverish,  so  ghastly  (I 
had  almost  said  ghostly),  for  the  sounds  seem  so  unreal,  more 
like  horrid  shrieks  heard  in  a  dream  than  the  utterances  of 
living  men.  The  shouting  of  our  men  is  deeper  and  hoarser, 
and  partakes  more  of  the  chest  tone  in  its  character,  but  the 
rebels  charge  with  a  yeC  that  is  something  between  the 


336  LIRE    AS    CHAPLAIN 

shriek  of  a  woman  and  the  scream  of  a  panther.  At  times 
you  can  close  your  eyes  and  imagine  that  some  fierce  conflict 
of  another  age  is  passing  before  you  in  a  dream,  so  strange 
and  unnatural  does  it  seem  to  see  men  engaged  in  mortal 
combat.  We  finally  dislodged  the  enemy  from  their  very 
strong  position  and  advanced  across  Broad  Run.  General 
Ouster  took  a  strong  position  on  a  hill  above  the  stream, 
while  General  Davies  was  ordered  with  his  brigade  to  ad- 
vance as  far  as  possible  toward  Warrenton,  for  General  Kil- 
patrick  had  received  written  orders  to  move  out  as  far  as 
he  could  upon  this  road  in  order  to  discover  the  force  and 
intentions  of  the  enemy.  The  surgeons  and  ambulances 
halted  in  a  field  between  the  two  brigades.  I  stayed  with 
them,  and  was  trying  to  get  a  feed  for  my  horse,  which  was 
evidently  beginning  to  feel  the  effects  of  long  marches  and 
short  rations,  when  suddenly  I  heard  firing  nearly  opposite 
us,  on  our  left  flank.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  a  mere  skir- 
mish with  some  rebels  left  in  the  woods  and  discovered  by  our 
men;  but  the  firing  became  more  rapid  every  moment,  and 
soon  General  Ouster's  battery  began  to  shell  the  woods  most 
vigorously.  I  saw  that  the  woods  were  full  of  men,  but 
could  not  distinguish  'ours  from  the  rebels.  Two  or  three 
aids  galloped  by  in  the  direction  General  Davies  had  taken. 
"One  remarked  in  passing,  with  an  ominous  look  and 
shake  of  his  head,  'You  had  better  be  getting  out  of  here,' 
which  was  not  a  very  comforting  suggestion  to  those  who  had 
no  orders  to  'get  out  of  here'  or  where  to  get  to.  It  was  very 
evident  that  something  was  wrong,  and  that  matters  were 
getting  serious.  Wagon  and  ambulance  drivers,  surgeons 
and  their  attendants,  contrabands  with  their  led  horses — in 
short,  all  of  us — were  like  a  covey  of  startled  quails,  their 
heads'  up,  aware  of  danger,  but  not  knowing  which  way  to 
fly.  We  could  not  very  well  show  fight,  for  a  charge  by  a 
wagon  train  would  be  almost  as  great  a  novelty  as  General 
Kilpatrick's  attacking  gunboats  with  cavalry,  which  he  ac- 
tually did  last  summer  on  the  Rappahannock,  and  destroyed 
them,  too.  But  we,  not  at  all  envious,  were  glad  to  receive 


LIFE   AS   CHAPLAIN  337 

orders  to  retrace  our  steps;  for  nothing  is  so  uncomfortable 
for  a  soldier  as  to  hear  firing  in  his  rear.  We  were  proceed- 
ing leisurely  and  in  good  order,  when  an  orderly  rode  rapidly 
up  to  our  front  and  turned  us  off  on  a  by-road  through  the 
woods,  with  an  injunction  to  move  rapidly  and  come  out  on 
the  main  pike  near  Gainesville.  Away  we  went  in  the  di- 
rection of  Thoroughfare  Gap,  the  wagons  banging  and 
bouncing  over  stones  and  stumps,  through  streams  and  mud- 
holes,  as  we  followed  the  sinuosities  of  a  narrow  wood-road 
which  finally  led  into  the  open  field.  Here  I  felt  like  cry- 
ing and  laughing  both — crying  with  rage  at  what  I  then  con- 
sidered our  disgraceful  retreat;  but  when  I  afterward 
learned  what  odds  we  were  contending  against,  I  was  satis- 
fied that  the  best  generalship  was  displayed  in  rapid  retreat. 
And  gravity  itself  would  have  laughed  at  the  figure  we  cut. 
Contrabands  and  camp  followers  were  careering  by  in  all 
states  of  panic.  Many  had  lost  their  hats  in  coming  through 
the  woods,  and  it  seemed  in  some  cases  now  that  their  wool 
fairly  stood  upon  end,  while  they,  rolling  their  eyes  over 
their  shoulders  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy,  exhibited  only 
their  whites  to  the  observer  in  front.  Here  might  be  seen 
an  unfortunate  darkie  hauling  on  a  stubborn  mule  that  with 
its  wonted  perversity  wanted  to  turn  around  and  run  the 
other  way ;  there  a  man  trying  to  raise  a  horse  that  had  fall- 
en with  him;  while  'Git  up,  dar;  git  up,  I  tell  yer,'  re-, 
sounded  from  every  side.  Some  poor  mules  and  some  led 
horses  fairly  got  frantic,  for  what  with  the  beating  they  re- 
ceived, and  with  tin  kettles  rattling  and  captured  chickens 
cackling  between  their  legs,  it  was  enough  to  distract  any 
brute;  so  they  kicked  and  floundered  till  they  burst  their 
girths,  and  galloped  away  rejoicing  in  their  freedom.  But 
the  comic  was  soon  lost  in  the  tragic.  The  pursuing  enemy 
was  now  closing  upon  us  from  all  sides.  The  rear  guard, 
which  was  the  Harris  Light  Cavalry,  made  many  a  gallant 
stand,  but  what  could  a  few  men  do  against  twenty  times 
their  number  ?  With  many  it  became  a  sad  race  for  life  and 
liberty.  But  before  dusk  we  had  the  satisfaction  of  effect- 
R— O— XV  111 


338  LIFE   AS   CHAPLAIN 

ually  checking  the  enemy.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
found  myself  rallying  a  body  of  men  in  a  fight.  Officers  and 
men  coming  in  rapidly,  we  soon  had  a  respectable  line  formed 
and  the  enemy's  advance  was  now  decidedly  checked.  Cap- 
tain Elder,  who  had  brought  off  all  his  guns  in  safety,  planted 
them  on  an  eminence,  and  soon  they  were  thundering  de- 
fiance to  the  baffled  enemy.  Shell  after  shell  screamed  over 
our  heads  and  exploded.  Soon  after  a  part  of  the  First 
Corps  came  up,  formed  a  line  of  battle,  and  relieved  our 
thinned  and  wearied  ranks.  We  retired  to  the  friendly 
shelter  of  a  neighboring  forest,  and  that  deep  sleep  which 
follows  great  excitement  and  exertion  quietly  stretched  us 
out  as  motionless  and  unconscious  seemingly  as  the  lifeless 
forms  of  our  brave  comrades  that  lay  cold  and  stark  along 
the  line  of  our  bloody  retreat." 

"Many  changes  and  much  marching  and  counter-march- 
ing have  taken  place  since  the  soldiers  of  the  Harris  Light 
Cavalry  gathered  nightly  under  the  old  apple  tree,  or  in 
front  of  the  chaplain's  tent,  during  the  warm  moonlight 
evenings  of  September  and  October.  The  rich  autumn  fo- 
liage that  then  made  even  poor  old  desolated  Virginia  look 
beautiful  has  dropped  away,  and  stern  winter,  rendered  all 
the  more  grim  and  forbidding  by  the  ravages  of  war,  now 
reigns  supreme.  Many  of  our  number,  also,  like  the  leaves, 
have  dropped  away.  Some,  having  obtained  and  squandered 
their  bounty,  have  treacherously  deserted  and  sneaked  away 
like  thievish  hounds.  The  bullet,  accident,  and  sickness  have 
each  conspired  to  lessen  our  number,  and  many  a  noble- 
hearted  fellow  who  was  always  first  and  foremost  in  all  a 
soldier's  duty  is  now  languishing  in  some  hospital,  or  sleeping 
beneath  the  sod  that  last  sleep  from  which  no  bugle  call  shall 
waken  him. 

"It  seems  as  if  God  was  teaching  us  to  look  to  himself, 
and  not  to  men,  for  among  those  that  sickness  has  for  the 
present  removed  from  our  number  were  three  who  were  the 
very  stay  and  central  pillars  of  our  regimental  church.  Espe- 


LIFE   AS   CHAPLAIN  339 

cially  do  I  feel  the  loss  of  Brother  Farber,  who  was  as  noble 
a  specimen  of  a  Christian  soldier  as  it  has  ever  been  my  for- 
tune to  meet.  Uniting  culture  of  heart  and  inind  with  a 
happy  disposition,  a  shrewd  and  quick  perception  of  char- 
acter, and  a  manner  that  made  him  popular  with  all,  he 
was  just  such  an  ally  as  the  chaplain  needed  in  the  ranks. 
Though  he  made  his  religion  respected  by  all,  he  also  made 
it  attractive,  and  his  society  was  not  shunned,  even  by  the 
wildest  spirits  of  the  regiment.  His  cheerful  smile  and 
words  were  better  than  medicine  in  the  hospital,  and  I  al- 
most always  found  him  there  when  off  duty.  Nearly  two 
months  ago  he  left  us  for  a  hospital  in  Washington,  sick  with 
the  typhoid  fever,  contracted  doubtless  by  over-fatigue  in  his 
care  of  the  sick  and  bodies  of  the  deceased,  and  by  breathing 
air  tainted  with  disease.  I  have  since  received  a  letter  from 
him  stating  that  he  was  very  sick,  and  that  the  surgeon  said 
it  would  be  months  before  he  could  join  the  regiment  again, 
if  ever.  For  aught  I  know  his  warfare  may  now  be  over 
and  he  at  rest,  for  I  have  received  no  answer  to  my  reply 
to  his  letter.  Brothers  Vernon  and  Stillwell  are  also  away 
sick.  Only  pastors,  and  they  not  fully,  can  realize  the  loss 
that  such  men  are  to  a  chaplain.  He  has  so  few  capable, 
warm-hearted  coadjutors  in  a  regiment  as  a  general  thing. 
There  is  such  a  torrent  of  evil  influences  rushing  in  on  every 
side,  that  he  sorely  feels  the  need  of  men  possessing  firm  and 
established  Christian  characters,  who  would  quietly  and  con- 
sistently stand  up  for,  and  live  religion  on  all  occasions. 
Here  he  has  none  of  the  conventionalities  and  restraints  of 
society  to  aid  him,  and  even  the  heavenly  influence  of  Chris- 
tian parents,  of  pure  sisters,  and  loving  wives  is  weakened  by 
distance,  absence,  and  sin.  But  in  grappling  with  the  many 
and  powerful  demoralizing  influences  and  vices  of  camp  life, 
one  soon  learns  that  but  little  can  be  accomplished  except  by 
the  direct  aid  and  interposition  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  for  noth- 
ing short  of  the  grace  of  God  can  enable  the  soldier  to  resist 
the  evil  that  assails  him  on  every  side. 

"While  I  was  on  a  brief  business  visit  to  the  North,  the 


340  LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN 

regiment  had  joined  the  advance,  and  on  my  return  I  found 
it  out  in  the  neighborhood  of  Warrenton.  After  waiting  a 
few  days  in  what  remained  of  our  old  camp,  I  found  an  op- 
portunity of  going  out  to  the  front  with  Captain  Cook,  of  our 
regiment,  and  a  small  squad  of  men.  The  ride  out  to  Rap- 
pahannock  Station,  where  our  regiment  was  last  heard  from, 
was  full  of  novelty  and  interest  to  one  who  had  never  been 
on  a  long  march  before.  Captain  Cook  is  a  gentleman  as 
well  as  a  good  soldier,  and  his  familiarity  with  the  historic 
region  through  which  we  passed  made  him  an  exceedingly 
agreeable  companion.  The  evening  of  the  second  day  of 
our  journey,  which  was  Sunday,  found  us  considerably  be- 
yond Manassas.  A  dismantled  house  stood  on  the  brow  of  a 
hill  in  a  grove  some  distance  from  the  road.  We  rode  up  to 
it  and  concluded  to  spend  the  night  there.  Though  it  was 
half  ruinous,  without  windows  and  doors,  and  the  floor  cov- 
ered with  rubbish  of  every  description,  but  a  few  moments 
sufficed  to  make  it  sufficiently  comfortable  for  a  soldier's  pur- 
pose. A  fire  blazing  on  the  hearth,  the  rubbish  cleared 
away,  a  blanket  hung  over  the  windows  and  doors,  made  our 
night  quarters  complete.  Then  gathering  around  the  fire, 
each  broiled  his  slip  of  bacon  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  and  en- 
joyed this  rude  repast  far  better  than  many  a  well-appointed 
banquet  in  the  North,  for  'hunger  was  our  sauce.'  After 
supper  we  had,  as  it  were,  family  prayers.  The  old  dilapi- 
dated mansion,  the  costume,  arms,  and  varied  expressions  of 
the  soldiers  as  they  lounged  around  listening  to  the  Word  of 
God,  all  brought  into  view  by  the  flickering  blaze  that  roared 
within  the  chimney,  made  a  scene  that  any  artist  might  wish 
to  copy. 

"After  marching  all  the  next  day  we  joined  our  wagon 
train  at  dusk,  near  Rappahannock  Station,  and  found  that 
we  were  just  in  time,  for  the  whole  army  was  on  the  move 
to  Fredericksburg.  Joining  the  train,  I  marched  half  the 
night  with  them  in  the  darkness  and  rain.  As  there  was  no 
shelter  near,  the  next  day  was  spent  in  the  rain  under  a  tree ; 
and  an  attack  on  the  wagon  train  being  expected  on  the  fol- 


LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN  341 

lowing  night,  my  slumbers  were  neither  very  sound  nor  long 
continued.  But  such  is  the  wonderful  vitality  that  life  in 
the  open  air  gives,  that  one  soon  recovers  from  loss  of  sleep 
and  fatigue.  Our  regiment  moved  down  to  Brook's  Station, 
where  it  remained  doing  picket  duty  till  it  joined  the  advance 
on  Fredericksburg. 

"Our  brigade,  with  our  beloved  and  lamented  General 
Bayard  in  command,  was  drawn  up  on  a  hillside  preparatory 
to  marching,  and  I  assure  you  that  the  long  lines  and  dense 
masses  of  cavalry  made  a  splendid  and  imposing  appearance. 
It  was  nearly  night  before  we  filed  off  toward  Falmouth.  The 
night  was  dark  and  misty  and  the  roads  broken  and  wild. 
Sometimes  we  would  plunge  down  into  a  deep  gully,  at  others 
scramble  up  the  slippery  and  frozen  sides  of  a  steep  hill. 
Every  now  and  then  horse  and  rider  would  be  down,  to  the 
great  merriment  of  all  witnesses.  But  the  joke  became  too 
serious  when  a  horse  fell  and  broke  one  poor  fellow's  leg. 

"Seen  through  the  mist  and  darkness,  the  long  extended 
column,  winding  among  the  broken  hills,  now  coming  out  in 
bold  relief  on  the  brow  of  one  of  them,  and  then  descending 
again  into  the  valley  or  the  gloom  of  some  forest,  had  a. 
shadowy  and  phantom-like  appearance,  and  seemed  more  like 
a  procession  in  a  dream  than  a  goodly  number  of  well-armed 
troopers  on  a  march.  Especially  was  this  spectral  effect 
heightened  when  a  distant  part  of  the  column  would  pass 
within  the  lurid  glare  of  some  brilliant  camp-fire.  After 
floundering  through  streams  and  quagmires,  and  filing 
through  gorges  that  reminded  one  of  the  old  Indian  ambus- 
cades, we  turned  off  into  a  forest  to  encamp  for  the  night. 
Selecting  a  tree  from  under  which  the  snow  had  partially 
melted  away,  a  few  of  us  built  a  fire,  then  spread  our  blankets 
and  slept  on  the  ground  in  the  clear,  frosty  starlight  as  well 
as  on  the  softest  couch  our  limbs  had  ever  pressed.  Long 
before  daylight,  the  bugle  sounded  'boots  and  saddles,'  and 
the  woods  soon  resounded  with  the  customary  martial  clamor 
of  an  encampment. 

"Suddenly  every  sound  was  hushed,  for  the  distant  boom 


342  LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN 

of  the  two  guns  that  opened  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg 
broke  upon  our  ears.  The  silence  was  succeeded  by  wild 
shouts  of  enthusiasm,  and  soon  we  were  on  our  way  to  the 
scene  of  action.  The  sharp  rattle  of  musketry  now  began  to 
mingle  with  the  report  of  cannon.  As  we  approached  the 
river  the  roar  of  the  artillery  was  truly  grand  and  awful.  I 
can  only  compare  it  to  a  very  violent  thunder-storm,  wherein 
you  hear,  at  one  and  the  same  time,  the  rumble  and  mutter  of 
some  peal  dying  away  in  the  distance,  the  heavy,  jarring  roll 
more  near,  and  the  loud  stunning  explosion  from  the  flash 
overhead.  Our  cavalry  was  crowded  on  a  plain  in  the  rear  of 
our  batteries.  We  did  not  know  that  the  rebels  were  not  re- 
plying to  our  guns,  and  expected  every  minute  they  would 
get  our  range.  As  we  remained  undisturbed,  I  concluded 
that  our  distance  from  the  river  was  much  greater  than  I  had 
first  supposed;  but  when  the  order  came  to  march,  and  we 
filed  off,  by  twos,  down  toward  the  river,  past  our  batteries, 
I  expected  every  moment  to  see  the  head  of  our  column 
broken  and  shattered  by  shot  and  shell.  I  have  heard  much 
about  'lazy  soldiers  and  large  pay/  but  I  thought  at  that 
time  that  the  soldier  who  marches  steadily  and  determinedly 
forward  on  such  occasions  earns  in  five  minutes  all  the  pay 
he  ever  gets.  But  the  heavy  cannonading  was  only  from  our 
own  guns,  for  the  rebels  were  reserving  their  fire.  We  soon 
found  that  our  orders  were  not  to  cross,  but  to  go  down  the 
river  and  do  picket  duty  on  the  extreme  left  flank.  As  we 
marched  along,  a  shell  from  one  of  our  batteries  on  a  hill 
above  me  passed  directly  over  my  head.  As  it  hissed  by,  it 
gave  me  an  idea  of  the  infinitely  short  space  of  time  in  which 
many  of  our  poor  boys  are  dashed  into  eternity. 

"The  early  dawn  of  Saturday  morning  saw  us  returning 
to  the  battlefield.  About  nine  o'clock  we  mounted  the  hill, 
and  formed  upon  the  plain  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 
As  we  were  taking  our  position,  I  heard  a  whizzing  sound, 
and  saw  the  earth  torn  up  by  a  solid  shot  quite  near  me.  They 
soon  screamed  over  our  heads  and  fell  all  around  us ;  but,  as 
a  general  thing,  the  enemy  fired  too  high.  A  few  hundred 


LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN  343 

yards  to  our  front,  the  shells  were  bursting  constantly.  We 
remained  on  the  plain  all  that  day  and  night,  the  fire  in  front 
of  us  sometimes  slackening,  and  sometimes  ceasing  alto- 
gether. We  often  cast  anxious  glances  at  some  rebel  bat- 
teries quite  near  us  on  the  right,  and  often  wondered  why 
they  did  not  open  upon  us,  for  if  they  did,  they  could  have 
swept  us  from  the  plain  in  a  few  moments.  Either  our  bat- 
teries occupied  them,  or  they  reserved  their  fire  for  some 
purpose.  A  little  after  noon,  we  heard  that  General  Bayard, 
our  division  commander,  was  mortally  wounded.  Soon  after 
word  came  that  cavalry  was  needed.  Two  regiments  of  the 
enemy  were  running,  it  was  said,  and  the  Harris  Light  Cav- 
alry was  wanted  to  follow  them  up.  Off  dashed  our  men  in 
close  column,  at  full  gallop,  to  the  place  designated,  the  sur- 
geon and  myself  going  to  the  hospital  to  prepare  for  our 
wounded.  As  we  started,  the  road  over  which  the  regiment 
had  just  passed,  and  directly  in  front  of  us,  was  torn  up  by  a 
solid  shot.  Whose  earnest  prayers  were  heard  that  day, 
and  the  Harris  Light  Cavalry  saved  from  almost  a  massacre  ? 
The  order  for  cavalry  had  to  pass  through  three  different 
hands  before  it  reached  us,  and  by  the  time  our  men  arrived 
at  the  spot  it  was  discovered  that  the  enemy's  retreat  was  only 
a  feint,  and  that  batteries  were  so  arranged  as  to  place  the 
party  who  should  follow  them  between  two  fires.  Our  regi- 
ment approached  near  enough  to  the  trap,  and  were  exposed 
to  a  sufficiently  hot  fire,  for  a  few  minutes,  to  be  satisfied  that 
if  they  had  charged,  as  was  intended,  but  few  would  have  re- 
turned. 

"At  the  hospital  we  found  poor  Bayard.  Of  all  the  ghastly 
wounds  I  saw  that  day  his  was  the  most  awful.  It  needed 
but  a  glance  to  see,  as  he  calmly  stated  to  those  who  visited 
him,  'that  his  days  on  earth  were  numbered/  If  his  wound 
had  been  a  mere  scratch,  he  could  not  have  been  more  cool, 
quiet,  and  collected.  He  talked  calmly  of  his  death  as  of  a 
settled  thing,  and  only  inquired  particularly  how  much  time 
he  had  left  on  earth.  He  was  told,  'perhaps  forty-eight 
hours.'  He  did  not  live  twenty-four.  My  heart  sank  within 


844  LIFE    AS    CHAPLAIN 

me  as  he  gave  me  his  hand  in  farewell,  and  I  almost  mur- 
mured, 'Why  are  the  best  taken  ?'  The  large  house  to  which 
the  wounded  were  brought  was  now  filled  with  mutilated  and 
dying  men.  Cries  and  groans  resounded  from  every  apart- 
ment. Ghastly  and  bloody  wounds  met  the  eye  in  every  di- 
rection. Some  had  their  eyes  shot  out ;  the  tongues  of  some 
were  swollen  out  of  their  mouths;  some  had  their  bodies  shot 
through;  others  were  torn  and  mangled  by  shell  and  solid 
shot,  and  all  were  crowded  wherever  there  was  any  space. 
The  surgeons  were  hacking  off  limbs  and  arms  by  the  dozen. 
The  odor  of  blood  was  oppressive.  One  man  called  me  to 
him,  thinking  I  was  a  surgeon,  and  said  that  one  of  his 
wounds  had  been  dressed,  but  he  found  that  he  had  another, 
which  was  bleeding  rapidly.  Another  poor  fellow  held  up 
his  arm  to  me,  with  a  great  bulging  hole  in  it,  and  asked  with 
an  expression  of  pain  and  anxiety  that  I  could  scarcely  en- 
dure, whether  I  thought  he  would  have  to  lose  it  ?  Such  is 
the  horrid  reality  of  war  behind  the  painted  scenes  of  honor, 
glory,  and  romance.  However  cold  an  ear  the  poor  fellows 
may  have  turned  to  the  story  of  the  Cross  when  in  health,  as 
a  general  thing  they  were  ready  enough  now  to  listen  to  the 
offers  of  mercy.  One  wounded  boy  had  his  leg  taken  off 
just  as  he  was  entering  the  hospital,  which  building  was  un- 
der fire  all  day,  and  was  repeatedly  struck.  The  scene  from 
the  windows  of  the  hospital  was  truly  splendid  as  night  came 
on.  Innumerable  camp-fires  gleamed  from  the  hillsides,  and 
occasionally  the  darkness  was  lighted  up  by  the  flash  of  can- 
non. But  weariness,  and  the  knowledge  that  our  own  regi- 
ment might  be  engaged  the  next  day,  caused  me  to  seek  a 
place  of  rest.  The  medical  department  of  our  brigade  had 
been  rendered  small  by  the  absence  of  some  of  its  members, 
and  it  might  be  that  our  duties  on  the  morrow  would  be  very 
arduous.  The  ground  outside  the  hospital  was  so  tramped 
up,  muddy,  and  filled  with  horses,  that  it  was  impossible  to 
sleep  there.  But  there  was  a  stone  alley-way  under  the  hos- 
pital, filled  with  tobacco  in  the  leaf,  part  of  it  lying  on  the 
ground,  and  part  drying  overhead.  One  end  of  this  place 


LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN  345 

was  already  filled  with  wounded  men,  but  the  surgeon  in 
charge  said  that  the  other  would  not  be  occupied  before 
morning,  and  that  I  had  better  stay  there.  As  a  light  came 
I  saw  something  white  lying  near  the  wall.  I  first  thought 
it  was  a  dog,  and  going  up,  I  stirred  the  object  with  my  foot. 
On  looking  closer,  I  found  that  it  was  a  ghastly  pile  of  arms 
and  legs  from  the  amputating-room.  But  I  had  seen  so 
much  of  blood  and  horror  during  the  day  that  I  had  grown 
callous.  I  quietly  spread  my  blanket  within  ten  feet  of  the 
bloody  heap,  and  listened  sadly  to  the  shrieks  and  groans 
from  the  hospital  above  till  I  fell  asleep.  The  reopening  of 
the  battle  on  Sunday  morning  awoke  me,  and  as  I  was  rolling 
up  my  blankets,  a  shell  bursting  near  warned  me  to  hasten. 
I  joined  the  regiment,  and  with  it  recrossed  the  river.  We 
have  since  been  doing  picket  duty  on  the  Rappahannock. 

"Many  a  careless,  light-hearted  soldier  wore  an  anxious, 
troubled  look  that  day,  as  we  stood  facing  the  rebel  batteries, 
and  many  a  loud-mouthed,  coarse,  swearing  fellow  was  quiet 
and  pale.  But  I  saw  no  flinching  or  skulking.  You  at  the 
I^orth,  who  cosily  read  about  battles  in  an  arm-chair,  know 
little  of  a  man's  sensations  who  stands  in  front  of  the  enemy's 
guns.  He  hears  shot  and  shell  scream  and  explode  over  and 
around  him.  Before  him  arises  the  sulphurous  smoke  of  the 
conflict.  From  out  of  that  obscurity  he  knows  that  at  any 
moment  some  swift  messenger  of  death  may  be  speeding  on 
its  way  to  his  heart.  He  thinks  of  unfinished  plans,  of  bright 
prospects  and  hopes  for  the  future.  His  home,  its  beloved 
inmates,  and  the  forms  and  features  of  those  friends  that  hold 
the  chief  places  within  his  soul  rise  up  before  him,  and  he 
knows  that  at  any  moment  he  may  be  snatched  from  all  these, 
and  lie  a  mangled,  bleeding  corpse  upon  the  ground.  And 
then  come  graver  and  still  more  solemn  thoughts  of  the  shad- 
owy world  beyond,  and  'conscience,  which  makes  cowards  of 
us  all,'  awakes.  In  the  mad  excitement  and  tumult  of  a 
charge,  everything  is  forgotten.  When  patiently  standing 
under  fire,  everything  is  remembered,  and  this,  of  all  that 


846  LIFE   AS    CHAPLAIN 

the  soldier  has  to  do  and  endure,  is  the  most  difficult  and 
dreaded." 

An  occasional  amusing  incident  would  occur,  however,  to 
relieve  the  gloom  of  these  tragic  times.  I  remember  hearing 
my  brother  tell  of  one  that  took  place  while  crossing  a  narrow 
pontoon  bridge.  A  mule,  riden  by  a  contraband,  and  having 
a  number  of  kettles  strung  on  one  side  of  the  saddle  and  on 
the  other  some  chickens  that  had  been  captured  from  hen- 
roosts along  the  march,  suddenly  became  stubborn  when  about 
halfway  across  the  bridge,  and  resisted  all  efforts  on  the  part 
of  his  rider  to  make  him  move  on.  He  was  blocking  the  way 
for  the  whole  troop.  An  officer,  seeing  the  situation,  shouted 
the  order:  "Charge  mule!"  Instantly  half  a  dozen  men 
rode  up  and  with  the  points  of  their  sabres  convinced  the 
animal  of  the  necessity  for  a  speedy  advance.  He  started 
off  at  a  dead  run,  scattering  the  rattling  kettles  and  squawk- 
ing hens  by  the  wayside,  the  poor  contraband  holding  on  with 
arms  clasped  around  the  mule's  neck,  while  the  troopers  fol- 
lowed in  wild  pursuit,  amid  shouts  and  laughter. 


A    WINTER    CAMP  347 


CHAPTER   III 

A     WINTER     CAMP 

THE  following  letters  were  written  from  the  winter 
quarters  of  the  regiment  on  the  Rappahannock,  and 
explain  themselves. 

"In  this  letter  I  merely  propose  to  give  some  glimpses  of 
camp  life.  When  the  army  lay  quiet  for  two  or  three  weeks 
after  the  battle  of  Fredericksburg,  we  began  to  think  of  win- 
ter quarters ;  so  one  fine  morning  our  whole  division  started 
out  in  search  of  a  desirable  locality.  In  some  respects  it  was 
a  rather  novel  expedition.  We  were  seeking  a  place  that 
would  probably  be  our  home  for  months;  and  I  assure  you, 
as  we  marched  along,  that  unknown  spot  of  ground  became  to 
us  an  object  of  no  small  anxiety  and  interest.  Those  officers 
who  had  designs  on  Washington,  rather  than  Richmond, 
hoped  it  would  be  near  the  steamboat  landing  on  the  Poto- 
mac. Many  wishes  were  expressed  that  wood  would  be  plenty 
and  convenient ;  for  winter  quarters  without  wood  is  an  im- 
possibility. Speculations  were  indulged  in  regard  to  the 
locality  and  soil,  whether  it  would  be  a  dry,  sheltered  little 
valley,  or  a  bleak  cornfield  capable  of  all  degrees  of  mud. 
The  place  of  encampment  selected  for  our  regiment  was  ap- 
parently the  latter.  I  must  say  that  many  of  us  were  not 
very  enthusiastic  about  the  position,  and  we  could  not  feel 
indifferent,  for  our  comfort  and  perhaps  health  depended  on 
the  suitableness  of  the  place. 

"Imagine  yourself,  my  reader,  riding  into  a  large,  bleak, 
hilly  cornfield,  the  stalks  still  standing,  with  your  whole  per- 
sonal property  in  this  region  of  the  world  strapped  behind 


348  A    WINTER   CAMP 

you  on  the  saddle,  your  horse  sinking  at  every  step  fetlock- 
deep  in  the  soft,  spongy  soil,  and  being  coolly  told  to  make 
yourself  comfortable  here  for  the  winter.  Probably  you 
would  feel  as  we  suppose  the  Israelites  did  when  required 
to  make  bricks  without  straw.  But  necessity  and  experience 
have  taught  the  soldier  many  lessons,  and  he  knows  well  how 
to  make  the  best  of  everything.  In  a  few  minutes  the  long 
picket  lines  are  uncoiled  and  stretched  from  post  to  post  in- 
serted for  the  purpose.  To  these  the  horses  are  tied  and  then 
unsaddled.  The  little  shelter  tents  range  themselves,  as  if 
by  magic,  in  long  rows  between  them,  and  within  a  half-hour 
or  so  the  place  begins  to  assume  the  appearance  of  a  well-laid- 
out  encampment. 

"But  this  is  merely  temporary,  and  the  building  of  regu- 
lar winter  quarters  is  next  in  order.  The  size  and  character 
of  the  huts  being  left  to  the  fancy  and  ingenuity  of  each  in- 
dividual, there  is,  with  much  apparent  sameness,  a  great  deal 
of  diversity  and  originality  to  be  observed.  The  most  sim- 
ple is  merely  a  'dug-out/  as  it  is  termed.  A  hole  is  dug  six 
or  seven  feet  square,  and  from  two  to  four  feet  deep,  and  over 
this  is  placed  the  tent.  The  floor  and  sides  are  lined  with 
boards  if  they  are  to  be  had,  otherwise  round  poles  and  rails 
answer  the  purpose.  Opening  into  the  'dug-out*  is  a  small 
trench  two  or  three  feet  long,  wide  at  its  mouth,  and  narrow- 
ing toward  the  end  furthest  from  the  tent.  Across  this 
trench  are  laid  any  old  pieces  of  iron  that  can  be  found,  and 
upon  them  is  placed  earth  so  as  to  exclude  the  air  entirely 
except  at  a  small  aperture  at  the  further  end,  around  which 
is  built  a  sod  chimney;  and  your  winter  quarters  are  com- 
plete. Thus  you  may  have  in  your  tent  all  the  warmth  and 
cheerfulness  of  an  open  fire. 

"Myself  and  servant  alone  built  one  of  these  in  an  after- 
noon, and  I  spent  in  it  some  of  the  coldest  weather  we  have 
had  this  winter  very  comfortably.  The  'dug-out'  principle 
enters  into  the  construction  of  nearly  all  our  little  cabins; 
and,  like  the  foxes,  we  have  holes,  and  literally  live  in  the 
'caves  and  dens  of  the  earth.'  The  officers  generally  build 


A    WINTER    CAMP  349 

their  quarters  in  the  side  of  a  bank,  and  have  them  logged 
up  nicely,  and  they  are  very  comfortable  except  in  a  long 
storm.  Sometimes  our  frail  canvas  covering  sways  terribly 
in  the  wintry  blasts,  and  I  have  often  lain  down  to  sleep 
more  than  half  expecting  to  find  my  house  gone  when  I 
awoke.  Still,  our  little  holes  in  the  ground  are  a  hundred- 
fold better  than  no  shelter  at  all,  and  far  preferable  to  those 
in  which  the  soldier  'sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking.' 
Some  of  the  men  who  have  the  faculty  of  making  anything 
and  everything  with  an  axe  put  up  quite  large  substantial 
log  shanties,  with  two  or  three  tiers  of  berths,  as  in  a  steam- 
boat. Some  have  quite  a  neat,  homelike  appearance,  and  are 
furnished  with  fanciful  little  tables  and  shelves  according 
to  the  tastes  and  wants  of  the  occupants.  Others  are  dismal 
and  dirty  in  the  extreme,  and  are  mere  dens.  Nothing  shows 
the  character  of  the  men  more  thoroughly  than  the  little  huts 
they  inhabit.  A  few  are  too  indolent  to  build  themselves 
anything,  and  are  still  living  in  their  shelter  tents.  But  over 
the  heads  of  us  all  is  merely  a  canvas  roof,  which  will  often 
leak,  and  it  is  a  very  common  thing  to  see  puddles  of  water, 
or  a  muddy  floor,  in  our  winter  quarters. 

"Still,  those  who  are  well  live  in  the  main  a  very  com- 
fortable life.  The  abundance  of  pure  air  and  exercise  makes 
us  strong  and  vigorous.  It  does  not  always  storm.  We  have 
many  days  that  are  warm  and  sunny,  and  then  give  me  camp 
life  in  preference  to  any  other.  The  soldiers  sit  and  lounge 
around  their  cabin  doors  in  motley  groups,  reading  (if  they 
have  anything  to  read),  smoking,  and  gossiping,  for  a  camp 
is  a  little  miniature  city,  with  its  daily  budget  of  news  and 
sensations,  its  streets,  squares,  and  centres,  and  also  many 
of  its  nuisances.  For  the  roar  of  New  York  we  have  a 
drowsy,  diminutive  hum,  frequently  broken  rudely  by  a  loud 
laugh  or  command,  the  clangor  of  weapons,  and  sometimes, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  by  loud  oaths.  Instead  of  musical  chimes 
from  Trinity  and  her  sister  steeples,  the  silvery  notes  of  the 
bugles  proclaim  the  hours  and  duties  of  the  day.  Our  lights 
glimmer  and  flicker  out  upon  the  night  like  long  rows  of 


350  A    WINTER    CAMP 

glowworms  rather  than  Broadway  lamps;  and  instead  of  the 
heavy  tramp  of  police  armed  with  star  and  club,  the  night- 
long rattle  of  sabres  shows  that  the  guards  and  sentinels 
are  on  their  posts  of  duty.  Sometimes  there  will  be  a  heavy 
fall  of  snow  during  the  night,  and  then  the  tents  and  cabins 
look  like  huge  snow-banks,  and  the  poor  horses  si  Iver  all  the 
more  under  the  cold  white  blankets  so  summarily  furnished ; 
the  only  ones  they  ever  get.  These  suffer  more  than  the  men, 
for  in  the  main  they  can  have  no  shelter,  and  often  have  to  do 
hard  work  on  short  rations.  Their  gaunt  appearance  and 
the  number  of  their  dead  tells  its  own  story.  Our  colonel 
remarked  one  day  that  he  hoped  the  mud  would  get  so  soft 
and  deep  that  the  horses  would  sink  in  sufficiently  to  enable 
them  to  stand  upright. 

"The  greatest  hardship  of  a  soldier's  life  in  winter  is 
picket  duty.  For  instance,  our  whole  brigade,  recently  as- 
signed to  Colonel  Kilpatrick,  left  their  comfortable  quarters 
a  few  mornings  ago,  and  went  out  on  picket  duty  for  ten 
days.  A  cold,  wet  snow  filled  the  air  and  clung  to  and  damp- 
ened everything.  It  settled  on  one's  hair  and  neck,  melted, 
and  ran  down  his  back,  producing  a  general  feeling  of  dis- 
comfort. As  the  men  formed  preparatory  to  marching,  their 
uniforms  of  blue  rapidly  changed  to  white,  and  as  they  filed 
off  in  the  dim  morning  light  they  presented  a  shadowy,  ghost- 
like appearance.  When  you  realize  what  it  is  to  march  eigh- 
teen or  twenty  miles  in  such  a  storm  over  horrible  roads,  and 
then  form  a  cordon  of  pickets  twenty  miles  long  in  a  wild, 
desolate  country,  you  have  some  idea  of  the  not  unusual 
experience  of  a  soldier. 

"When  he  reaches  his  destination,  it  is  not  a  disagreeable 
journey  over,  and  comfortable  quarters  in  which  to  dry  and 
refresh  himself.  All  his  conditions  of  comfort  are  carried 
on  his  person,  or  strapped  to  his  saddle,  and  he  is  thankful 
even  for  the  shelter  of  a  pine  wood.  Immediately  on  arrival, 
without  time  for  rest,  a  large  detachment  must  form  the 
picket  line,  and  stand  ever  on  the  alert  from  two  to  four 
hours  at  a  time,  be  it  day  or  night.  It  should  not  be  for- 


A    WINTER    CAMP  351 

gotten,  during  these  long  winter  evenings  when  the  stormy 
wind  sweeps  and  howls  around  your  comfortable  dwellings, 
that  among  the  wild  woods  and  hills  of  Virginia,  or  on  the 
plains  of  the  far  West,  the  patient  sentinel  walks  his  deso- 
late beat,  or  sits  like  an  equestrian  statue  on  his  horse,  thus 
forming  with  his  own  chilled  and  weary  frame  a  living 
breastwork  and  defence  for  your  homes.  Pray  for  him,  that 
during  these  long,  lonely  hours  of  hardship  and  danger  our 
merciful  God  may  excite  within  his  mind  thoughts  of  that 
better  life  and  happier  world  where  the  weary  are  at  rest — 
where  even  the  names  of  enemy  and  war  are  forgotten." 

"The  regiment  referred  to  is  the  Ninth  New  York  Cav- 
alry. Their  chaplain  is  not  with  them  at  present.  My  offer 
to  preach  for  them  on  the  Sabbath  was  readily  accepted,  and 
though  at  the  time  of  service  it  was  cold  and  even  raining 
slightly,  a  large  congregation  turned  out  and  remained  pa- 
tiently throughout  the  service.  One  of  their  officers  re- 
marked afterward  that  he  had  not  had  the  pleasure  of  attend- 
ing anything  of  the  kind  before  for  five  months. 

"If  Christians  North,  who  have  piles  of  reading  matter 
lying  idly  about  their  houses,  could  see  how  eagerly  those  men 
pressed  forward  to  get  the  few  tracts  I  offered,  they  would 
suffer  it  to  remain  thus  useless  no  longer.  Our  soldiers  seem 
to  be  hungry  and  almost  starving  for  the  want  of  mental  and 
moral  nourishment. 

"I  often  feel  it  my  duty  to  be  somewhat  officious,  and  to 
offer  my  service  outside  of  my  regiment  sometimes,  for  even 
such  as  I  can  give  is  better  than  nothing,  which  would  be  their 
lot  if  some  did  not  go  forward.  I  think  Christians  should  be 
aggressive  in  their  character,  and  seek  opportunities  to  ex- 
tend the  dominion  of  their  King.  There  are  too  many  pro- 
fessors who  are  like  a  certain  chaplain,  concerning  whom  I 
heard  an  officer  remark,  'that  he  was  a  good,  inoffensive 
man,  and  never  disturbed  the  devil  nor  any  one  else  in  the 
camp.'  A  prayer-meeting  was  appointed  on  Monday  even- 


352  A    WINTER    CAMP 

ing,  but  on  the  morning  of  that  day  the  regiment  received 
marching  orders  and  departed  for  parts  unknown. 

"One  of  the  most  remarkable  conversions  in  our  regiment 
is  that  of  a  quartermaster's  sergeant.  The  man,  although 
around  the  camp  attending  to  his  duties,  is  in  a  critical  state 
of  health,  bleeding  almost  daily  at  the  lungs.  When  but  a 
mere  boy  he  ran  away  from  home  because  punished  severely 
by  his  father  for  some  fault,  and  was  not  heard  from  for  over 
two  years,  during  which  time  he  suffered  many  hardships 
in  the  West.  Not  long  after  his  discovery  his  father  died 
and  left  a  mother  and  a  sister  dependent  upon  him  for  sup- 
port. This  responsibility  he  nobly  undertook,  and  worked 
hard,  early  and  late,  and  denied  himself  everything  to  give 
them  the  comforts  of  life.  Still,  he  was  noted  for  his  fiery 
and  ungovernable  spirit,  which  often  got  him  into  trouble. 
At  an  early  age  he  went  to  sea  and  visited  nearly  all  parts 
of  the  world.  He  engaged  extensively  in  smuggling,  which 
occupation  he  followed  both  in  English  and  Spanish  waters. 
He  returned  home  from  this  roving,  reckless  life  but  a  short 
time  before  the  war  broke  out,  and  was  among  the  first  to 
enlist.  During  the  past  summer  he  has  often  been  in  cir- 
cumstances of  the  greatest  peril,  but  escaped  unharmed. 
Once,  in  the  confusion  of  battle,  he  found  himself  directly 
in  front  of  a  battery  loaded  with  grape  and  canister.  For 
some  reason  or  other  his  horse  would  not  move,  but  stood 
stock  still,  and  thus  he  had  to  wait  for  the  terrible  discharge 
which  soon  came.  He  said  it  seemed  as  if  a  perfect  torrent 
of  iron  hail  rushed  by  and  all  around  him,  and  that  his  only 
thought  was  that  his  time  had  come  now,  and  that  the  devil 
had  got  him  then  surely.  By  a  miracle,  as  it  seemed  to  him, 
he  escaped  unharmed,  and  was  enabled  to  get  out  of  range. 
Many  and  many  a  time  he  had  heard  the  bullets  hiss  by  his 
ears,  and  the  shrill  screams  of  shell  overhead,  but  they  raised 
in  his  mind  no  thoughts  of  God  or  repentance. 

"As  I  described  in  a  former  letter,  a  prayer-meeting  was 
started  in  the  camp,  and  held  in  the  quarters  of  the  new  re- 
cruits. He  heard  .the  singing,  and  passing  by  the  next  day 


A    WINTER    CAMP  353 

remarked  to  a  new  recruit  that  'they  seemed  happy  down 
there  last  night — guessed  they  must  have  had  some  whiskey.' 
The  person  addressed  happened  to  be  one  of  the  three  Chris- 
tian men  who  first  started  the  prayer-meeting,  and  he  ex- 
plained to  the 'sergeant  the  somewhat  different  source  and 
occasion  of  their  happiness.  The  sergeant  promised  to  at- 
tend that  evening,  which  he  did,  and  the  'still  small  voice'  of 
the  Spirit  spoke  to  him  louder  than  the  thunders  of  the 
battlefield. 

"An  evening  or  two  after  that  I  noticed  him  among  those 
who  had  come  to  the  chaplain's  tent  to  be  conversed  with  on 
the  subject  of  religion.  I  was  struck  by  the  contented,  happy 
expression  of  his  face.  He  told  me  that  he  had  gone  from 
that  prayer-meeting  to  his  tent,  and  commenced  reading  a 
Testament.  His  tent-mate  came  along,  and  he  immediately 
put  out  his  light  and  hid  his  book.  When  he  was  alone 
again  he  knelt  and  prayed  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  and 
afterward,  he  said,  'he  felt  so  happy  he  could  not  sleep.' 

"The  next  day,  while  about  his  work,  something  vexed 
him,  and  he  swore,  before  he  thought,  as  usual.  He  said 
'it  grieved  him  so  that  he  sat  down  and  cried.'  Though,  as 
it  were,  alone  in  the  world  and  bereft  by  death  of  almost 
every  friend  he  loved,  and  now  seemingly  suffering  from  an 
incurable  disease,  he  is  a  happy  Christian  man. 

"In  our  meetings  he  has  to  be  constantly  on  his  guard 
against  over-excitement,  since  it  would  cause  him  to  bleed 
at  his  lungs,  but  the  expression  of  his  face,  as  he  sits  quietly 
in  one  corner  or  beside  the  fire,  shows  how  intense  and  keen 
is  his  enjoyment  of  that  which  he  is  forbidden  to  take  part 
in  actively.  At  first  his  change  of  life  caused  a  good  deal  of 
remark  and  some  merriment  in  his  company.  He  would  be 
asked  'when  he  was  going  up  to  heaven,'  When  he  com- 
menced his  evening  devotions  there  was  at  first  a  good  deal 
of  jesting.  'The  quartermaster  is  going  to  pray'  would  be 
called  out,  and  remarks  of  a  similar  nature.  They  soon  saw 
that  he  was  sincere  and  respected  him,  and  'now,'  he  says, 
*he  can  hear  a  pin  drop  while  he  is  At  prayer.' 


354  A    WINTER    CAMP 

"This  is  one  of  many  of  the  interesting  cases  of  conver- 
sion in  our  regiment.  The  chief  feature  of  this  work,  how- 
ever, seems  to  be  the  renewal  of  backsliders  in  their  allegi- 
ance to  God.  But  time  will  not  permit  me  to  write  more  at 
present." 

"How  often  when  a  boy  I  have  shuddered  at  Indian 
atrocities.  With  what  morbid  pleasure  I  have  searched 
through  the  early  records  of  colonial  history  for  details  of 
horror,  fatal  surprise,  and  midnight  massacre.  How  I  have 
watched  in  imagination,  with  suspended  breath,  the  wary, 
noiseless  approach  of  the  painted  savages,  till  with  one  wide- 
ringing  war-whoop  they  rushed  upon  their  unconscious  vic- 
tims, destined  now  to  either  death  or  captivity.  The  dangers 
and  terrors  of  open  battle  seemed  nothing  to  this  constant 
dread  of  an  unseen  treacherous  foe.  I  little  thought  that 
it  would  one  day  be  my  fortune  to  live  under  very  similar 
circumstances,  for  life  in  Virginia  now  is  not  so  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  our  forefathers  a  century  or  more  ago.  Pio- 
neers in  this  wilderness  of  despotism  and  treason,  we  are 
exposed  to  dangers  and  hardships  not  much  inferior  to  theirs. 
Ever  near  us  we  know  there  is  a  great  army  watching  with 
sleepless  vigilance,  and,  like  a  wild  beast  crouching  for  its 
leap,  it  is  ready  to  take  advantage  of  the  slightest  mistake  or 
show  of  weakness  on  our  part.  It  is  very  strange,  truly, 
when  one  comes  to  realize  it,  this  living  for  years  within  a 
few  miles  of  thousands  who  would  take  your  life  in  a  mo- 
ment if  they  got  a  chance. 

"The  forests  and  country  around  us  swarm  with  guerillas. 
In  place  of  some  savage  Indian  chief,  the  terror  of  the  whole 
border,  the  frontiers  of  our  army  are  infested  by  the  ubiq- 
uitous Mosby.  The  capture  of  a  sutler's  train  near  Fairfax 
and  a  raid  upon  an  outpost  on  the  Rappahannock  occurring 
at  the  same  time  are  both  ascribed  to  Mosby  in  person  by  the 
soldiers.  If  a  picket  hears  a  distant  gallop  in  the  night  upon 
one  flank  of  the  army,  and  a  sudden  shot  startles  the  air  upon 
the  other  flank,  Mosby  is  invariably  the  author  of  both 


A    WINTER    CAMP  355 

alarms.  No  wonder  the  poor  contrabands  say  'Mosby  mus' 
be  like  de  debbel  and  go  all  ober  to  oncst.'  He  was  once  cap- 
tured by  our  regiment  while  bearing  despatches  and  after- 
ward exchanged.  After  he  was  taken  he  tried  to  escape  by 
running  his  horse,  but  one  of  our  men  sent  a  bullet  whistling 
so  near  his  head  that  it  produced  a  sober  second  thought, 
and  he,  from  that  time,  followed  quietly.  But  he  was  not 
so  famous  then,  and  had  not  so  many  trained  associates  like- 
minded  with  himself.  Now  they  follow  a  marching  column 
like  hungry  sharks  about  a  ship,  and  woe  be  to  the  man  that 
lags  behind  or  strays  from  the  main  body. 

"This  evil  has  one  great  advantage,  however,  and  that 
is  the  almost  entire  suppression  of  straggling.  Mosby  and 
his  companions  have  done  more  to  abolish  this  disgraceful 
custom  in  our  army  than  all  the  orders  and  edicts  from  the 
War  Department  and  Major  Generals  down.  A  year  or 
more  ago,  I  saw  bodies  of  men  marching  in  a  way  that 
reminded  one  of  a  comet,  the  head  of  the  regiment  being 
the  nucleus,  the  density  decreasing  rapidly  as  you  went  to- 
ward the  rear,  and  finally  a  straggling  raft  of  men  scattered 
over  two  or  three  miles  of  territory  constituting  the  tail. 
Now  you  will  find  a  column  moving  trimly  and  compactly, 
and  the  rear  files  often  looking  suspiciously  over  their  shoul- 
ders among  the  dark  pines  through  which  they  are  passing, 
for  sometimes,  especially  at  nights,  shots  are  fired  into  the 
rear. 

"There  are  very  few  in  the  cavalry  that  have  not  had  nar- 
row escapes,  for  our  position  on  the  front  and  flanks  of  the 
army  always  brings  us  next  to  Mosby.  Just  before  we 
crossed  the  Rappahannock  the  last  time,  our  division  com- 
missary, Lieutenant  Hedges,  was  returning  to  his  quarters 
from  a  short  ride  to  another  part  of  the  army,  when  he  was 
hailed  and  ordered  to  surrender.  'Never,'  he  replied,  at  the 
same  time  striking  spurs  to  his  horse  and  leaning  down  upon 
him.  He  succeeded  in  escaping,  but  not  before  the  guerilla, 
or  as  it  is  affirmed,  Mosby  in  person,  put  a  ball  through  his 
body.  For  some  days  he  was  not  expected  to  live,  but  is  now 


356  A    WINTER    CAMP 

recovering  slowly.  I  have  had  two  or  three  narrow  escapes 
myself  where  it  almost  seemed  that  Providence  interfered  to 
save  my  life.  Once,  when  our  regiment  was  doing  picket 
duty  at  a  distant  outpost,  I  rode  down  to  General  Kilpatrick's 
headquarters  on  some  business.  As  I  was  starting  to  return 
in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  the  general  came  out  and  asked 
me  to  stay  with  him  that  night.  I  replied  that  with  his  per- 
mission I  would  come  again  in  the  morning,  and  that  I  would 
rather  be  with  my  regiment  at  night ;  but  as  he  insisted  upon 
it,  I  stayed.  The  next  morning,  a  little  after  daylight,  one 
of  our  men  .was  shot  dead  and  robbed  upon  the  road  that  I 
would  have  taken.  A  woman  living  near  said  that  two 
bushwhackers  had  spent  the  night  upon  the  road  with  the 
avowed  intention  of  murdering  and  robbing  the  first  man  that 
went  by.  As  no  one  passed  that  way  during  the  early  part 
of  the  night,  they  went  into  a  house  and  slept  till  morning, 
and  again  were  on  the  road  in  time  to  meet  poor  ITrancher  of 
Company  B,  who  had  been  after  his  pay.  They  took  this, 
for  his  pocket  was  found  turned  inside  out  It  was  my  sad 
duty  to  bury  him  the  next  day,  and  as  we  lowered  him  into 
his  lonely  grave,  I  could  not  help  asking  myself,  Why  am  I 
not  in  his  place  ? 

"Once  again,  last  ]STovember,  while  on  the  march,  Lieu- 
tenant Whitaker  and  myself  were  about  to  pass  over  a  road 
between  our  wagon  train  and  General  Kilpatrick's  headquar- 
ters, when  a  little  incident  detained  us  about  fifteen  minutes. 
As  we  were  going  by  the  house  of  quite  a  noted  secessionist, 
some  of  our  boys  began  to  make  free  in  his  cabbage  garden 
and  poultry  yard,  and  a  scuffle  ensued  between  the  old  citizen, 
his  wife  and  daughter,  and  the  soldiers.  An  infantry  colonel 
who  was  at  the  house  came  violently  out,  and  instead  of 
quietly  showing  his  rank  and  firmly  ordering  the  men  away, 
commenced  cutting  them  with  his  sword,  and  made  some 
quite  serious  wounds.  It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  we 
prevented  our  men  from  killing  him  on  the  spot.  But  as 
the  colonel  outranked  us,  we  could  do  nothing  with  him,  and 
BO  passed  on,  but  before  we  got  fairly  started  upon  the  road 


A    WINTER    CAMP  357 

again  we  met  a  man  running,  breathless,  with  his  hat  off, 
who  said  that  he  had  just  escaped  from  the  guerillas.  Lieu- 
tenant Newton  of  the  First  Vermont  Cavalry  was  passing 
over  the  road  with  several  men,  when  fifteen  rebels  sprang 
out  upon  him,  killed  one,  took  two  prisoners,  and  the  rest 
saved  themselves  only  by  rapid  flight.  If  we  had  not  been 
detained,  we  would  have  arrived  at  the  same  spot  a  few 
minutes  earlier  and  received  their  concentrated  fire. 

"At  times  they  have  captured  our  mail,  and  afterward 
they  have  taunted  us  by  shouting  out  the  contents  of  our  let- 
ters to  our  pickets  across  the  Rappahannock.  One  very  dark 
night  they  slipped  into  the  quarters  of  one  of  our  officers 
while  he  was  on  picket,  shot  his  colored  servant,  and  carried 
him  off  to  Richmond.  Thus  vigilance  is  a  cardinal  virtue 
in  this,  as  well  as  in  the  Christian  warfare.  But  we  never 
suffered  as  much  on  the  south  as  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Rappahannock.  The  country  between  the  two  rivers  is  now 
thoroughly  occupied  by  our  troops,  and  our  picket  lines  so 
close  and  well  posted  as  to  render  it  almost  impossible  for 
the  rebels  to  indulge  themselves  this  winter  in  many  mur- 
dering and  horse-stealing  expeditions." 


358        MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND 


CHAPTER    IV 

MARRIAGE THE    RAID    TOWARD    RICHMOND 

IN  November,  1863,  Edward  received  a  month's  leave  of 
absence  from  his  regiment,  and  during  this  time  was 
married  to  Miss  Anna  Sands.  The  ceremony  was  per- 
formed by  the  venerable  Dr.  Adams  in  Madison  Square 
Church,  and  was  followed  by  a  large  reception  at  the  bride's 
home  in  Seventeenth  Street,  New  York.  Leaving  his  bride 
there  when  the  furlough  was  over,  my  brother  returned  to 
his  regiment. 

In  this  letter,  written  just  after  reaching  camp,  he  dwells 
upon  some  of  the  contrasts  of  army  life. 

"After  a  long  absence  I  experienced  a  decided  thrill  of 
pleasure  on  finding  myself  once  more  among  the  white  tents 
and  familiar  scenes  of  the  camp,  for  there  is  something  very 
fascinating  about  army  life,  notwithstanding  its  hardship 
and  exposure.  Very  pleasant,  too,  was  the  hearty  welcome 
I  received,  and  numberless  great  brown  hands,  reeking  with 
moisture  and  pork  grease  from  the  meal  they  were  superin- 
tending, gave  me  a  grip  that  made  my  joints  snap  again. 
Still,  I  much  preferred  it  to  your  fashionable  Northern  two- 
fingered  touch.  It  had  a  language  whose  meaning  I  liked. 
It  showed  I  had  the  first  requisite  for  doing  good  among 
them — their  confidence  and  affection.  I  found  only  a  part, 
though  a  large  part,  of  my  regiment  at  this  place,  which  is  a 
dismounted  cavalry  camp,  containing  the  fragments  of  twenty 
or  thirty  regiments.  Men  whose  horses  have  given  out  or 
been  killed  at  the  front  come  here  and  remain  till  they  are 
again  mounted  and  equipped,  when  they  rejoin  their  com- 


MARRIAGE—THE  RAID   TOWARD  RICHMOND         359 

mands.  Our  stay  here  will  probably  be  brief,  for  we  are 
ordered  to  the  front  as  soon  as  possible. 

"One  Saturday  morning  the  monotony  of  camp  life  was 
decidedly  broken.  The  day  had  been  warm,  and  for  a  time 
the  hum  of  camp  activity  had  subsided  almost  into  silence. 
The  orderlies  went  to  and  fro  as  usual,  but  their  horses  had 
a  listless,  indolent  canter,  characteristic  of  all  exertion  at 
such  a  time.  But  as  the  day  declined  there  were  marks  of 
unusual  bustle  at  headquarters.  A  ball  was  to  be  given  that 
evening  by  the  commanding  officer.  All  officers  present  of 
our  regiment  were  invited.  As  far  as  I  could  learn,  music, 
dancing,  and  drinking  were  to  be  the  staple  amusements  of 
the  evening.  I^ot  caring  to  participate  in  the  two  latter,  and 
as  I  could  enjoy  the  first  in  my  tent,  I  expected  to  remain 
very  quietly  at  my  quarters.  At  dusk  the  revelry  com- 
menced. At  nine  o'clock  a  carriage  drove  up  to  our  quar- 
ters. It  contained  Captain  Downing  of  our  regiment,  who 
had  just  come  in  from  the  front,  bringing  with  him  the  dead 
body  of  one  of  our  officers  who  had  been  drowned  while  bath- 
ing. This  was  sad  news  indeed,  for  Lieutenant  Stewart 
was  a  good  soldier  and  very  popular.  The  captain  wished 
to  see  the  officer  in  command  of  our  detachment.  I  went  up 
to  the  headquarters  to  assist  in  finding  him.  All  was  gayety 
and  frolic  there.  It  was  truly  a  beautiful  scene.  The  trees 
were  hung  with  Chinese  lanterns  of  many  colors.  The  guards 
paced  backward  and  forward  on  the  spacious  lawn,  their  arms 
glittering  in  the  moonlight,  which  glimmered  through  the 
grand  old  trees.  In  the  distance  the  Potomac  lay  like  a  sil- 
ver lake,  with  here  and  there  a  white  sail  upon  its  bosom. 
Over  the  green  turf  gayly  dressed  ladies  and  officers  in  rich 
uniform  were  tripping  some  light  measure,  while  the  Blinking 
of  glasses  showed  that  the  wine  was  passing  freely.  No  one 
could  help  enjoying  the  music  from  the  full  military  band. 

"Having  noted  the  picturesque  beauty  of  the  scene,  and 
moralized  to  myself  awhile  unnoticed  among  the  throng,  I 
thought  I  would  step  over  to  the  hospital  and  see  how  the 
sick  boys  were  enjoying  the  revel.  It  was  not  over  fifty  yards 


360        MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND 

from  the  music-stand.  Though  it  might  be  pleasure  to  oth- 
ers, it  was  death  to  them.  One  poor  fellow,  far  gone  with  the 
typhoid  fever,  and  excited  by  the  music  and  noise,  was  talk- 
ing to  himself  in  wild  delirium.  He  has  since  died.  All  were 
restless  and  sleepless.  I  said  a  few  quieting  words,  and  was 
about  leaving  when  a  man  asked  me  if  I  would  not  offer  a 
prayer.  'I  am  not  a  Christian  man,'  he  remarked,  'but 
I  would  like  to  hear  a  prayer  to-night.'  Of  course  I  com- 
plied, and  soon  the  words  of  supplication  were  mingling 
with  the  gay  notes  of  the  quickstep.  I  have  seen  the  man 
since  several  times,  and  have  good  reason  to  believe  that  he 
has  become  a  sincere,  earnest  Christian.  The  contrast  in  his 
two  modes  of  life  will  be  most  marked.  He  told  me  that 
when  at  home  he  would  often  take  his  wife  to  church,  and 
then  ride  on  further  and  trade  horses  during  the  service,  and 
call  for  his  wife  on  his  return.  As  may  be  imagined,  army 
life  had  not  improved  his  morals.  Still,  the  influence  of  his 
Christian  wife  followed  him,  and  during  his  days  of  sickness 
came  back  in  tenfold  power,  and  the  kindly  Spirit  of  our 
merciful  Father,  ever-striving,  led  him  to  the  Saviour. 

"After  leaving  the  hospital  I  met  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard,  and  found  him  arming  a  body  of  men.  'We  are  go- 
ing to  have  trouble  to-night/  he  said  to  me.  The  camp  be- 
low was  in  a  ferment.  There  were  many  there  who  loved 
whiskey  as  well  as  the  more  privileged  at  headquarters.  At 
first  the  rioters  (who  were  mainly  from  a  regiment  of  regu- 
lars) threatened  to  appropriate  the  officers'  stores  and  break 
up  the  ball.  But  hardly  daring  to  do  that,  they  turned 
their  attention  to  a  sutler's  tent  and  eating-house.  They 
soon  demolished  his  establishment  and  set  fire  to  his  prem- 
ises, liiey  here  obtained  the  much  desired  whiskey,  and  ex- 
cited by  liquor,  they  boldly  began  preparations  to  attack 
another  sutler  who  was  unpopular.  The  riot  was  now  get- 
ting formidable.  From  my  tent  I  could  overlook  the  whole 
camp  and  scenes  at  headquarters.  Meantime  our  regiment 
was  arming  and  procuring  ammunition.  Fifty  of  our  men 
were  already  acting  as  guards.  They  formed  and  received 


MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND         361 

their  cartridges  in  front  of  our  tents,  thus  drawing  attention 
to  the  headquarters  of  our  detachment,  which  I  thought  at 
one  time  would  provoke  an  attack  upon  us.  I  dreaded  this, 
for  one  of  our  officers  had  left  his  wife  in  my  charge  at  the 
commencement  of  the  disturbance.  Our  men  then  marched 
to  headquarters,  fearing  the  first  attack  would  be  there.  For 
a  few  moments  all  was  still  throughout  the  camp.  Then 
there  were  signals  in  all  directions.  In  a  few  moments  more 
the  mules  were  stampeded  from  the  corral.  They  then  pro- 
ceeded to  attack  the  sutler's  tent  just  below  us.  Here  the 
guards  fired  upon  them,  which  caused  them  to  retreat  to 
the  burning  sutler's  tent  in  the  middle  of  the  camp.  Then  I 
could  see  our  men  coming  down  from  the  headquarters  on  a 
full  run.  Wheeling  at  a  certain  point,  they  charged  with- 
out a  moment's  hesitation.  For  a  short  time  shots  were 
fired  in  rapid  succession,  when  the  rioters  broke  and  ran. 
The  ball  was  arrested.  The  order  was  given,  'Every  officer 
to  his  post.'  The  ladies,  pale  and  frightened,  were  huddled 
together,  asking  anxious  questions.  Many  of  the  officers 
might  be  seen  in  their  ball-dress  walking  and  riding  through 
the  camp  with  sword  and  pistol  driving  the  men  into  their 
tents.  Such  volleys  of  horrible  oaths  as  were  heard  in 
every  direction  I  hope  may  never  shock  my  ears  again. 
Officers  cursed  the  men,  and  the  men  cursed  the  officers. 
For  a  time  things  looked  rather  serious.  Meanwhile  our 
boys  stood  grim  and  expectant,  ready  to  quell  any  show  of 
resistance.  In  a  few  minutes  the  whole  camp  was  under 
arms,  but  the  ringleaders  having  been  caught,  quiet  was 
eventually  restored.  My  heart  ached  for  the  young  wife 
who  saw  the  exposure  of  her  husband  and  felt  her  own  dan- 
ger, and  who  was  compelled  to  listen  to  the  awful  profan- 
ity of  the  hour.  I  will  say,  for  the  benefit  of  all  con- 
cerned, that  there  was  nothing  of  a  political  nature  in  the 
outbreak.  Whatever  may  be  the  soldiers'  vices,  they  have 
not  yet  sunk  so  far  as  to  sympathize  with  Northern  'copper- 
heads.' The  cause,  as  far  as  I  could  learn,  was  the  unpopu- 
larity of  the  sutlers,  jealousy  of  our  regiment  because  the 
R—P— XVIII 


362        MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND 

guard  of  honor  for  the  evening  was  chosen  from  it,  and  a 
desire  for  whiskey,  for  which  a  certain  class  will  do  and  dare 
anything.  After  quiet  was  restored  the  dancing,  music,  and 
drinking  were  resumed  as  though  nothing  had  happened. 
Meanwhile,  on  one  side  the  poor  fellows  in  the  hospital  tossed 
and  moaned  and  raved  in  their  restlessness  and  delirium, 
and  on  the  other  lay  the  two  rioters  stiff  and  stark  upon  the 
ground,  their  souls  rudely  thrust  out  into  the  unknown  amid 
riot  and  intoxication,  soon  to  be  sobered  but  too  well  by  their 
abrupt  plunge  into  the  dusk  waters  of  death.  Life  presents 
to  the  close  observer  peculiar  phases  and  contrasts  at  all 
times,  but  it  seems  that  in  the  events  of  this  evening  there 
was  a  strange  mingling  of  life  and  death,  pleasure  and  pain. 
Yet  in  the  sick  and  repentant  soldier  God  was  at  least  fash- 
ioning one  soul  from  out  this  moral  and  social  chaos  for  the 
perfect  symmetry  of  heaven.  I  had  hoped  that  after  the 
night's  uproar  we  should  have  a  quiet  Sabbath,  but  was  dis- 
appointed in  this,  for  orders  came  in  the  morning  to  arm, 
mount,  and  equip  every  available  man  and  send  them  all  to 
the  front.  And  so  throughout  the  day  the  clangor  of  arms, 
the  trampling  of  men  and  horses,  and  the  words  of  command, 
made  the  quiet  peacefulness  of  a  IsTorthern  Sabbath  a  thing 
scarcely  to  be  imagined." 

Late  in  February,  1864,  Edward  joined  General  Kil- 
patrick  in  his  famous  raid  toward  Richmond.  He  wrote  a 
brief  account  of  this,  which  was  published  in  "Lippincott's 
Magazine." 

"In  the  dusk  of  Sunday  evening  four  thousand  men  were 
masked  in  the  woods  on  the  banks  of  the  Rapidan.  Our 
scouts  opened  the  way  by  wading  the  stream  and  pouncing 
upon  the  unsuspecting  picket  of  twenty  Confederates  oppo- 
site. Then  away  we  went  across  a  cold,  rapid  river,  march- 
ing all  that  night  through  the  dim  woods  and  openings  in  a 
country  that  was  emphatically  the  enemy's.  Lee's  entire 
army  was  on  our  right,  the  main  Confederate  cavalry  force 
on  our  left.  The  strength  of  our  column  and  its  objective 
point  could  not  remain  long  unknown. 


MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND         363 

"In  some  unimportant  ways  I  acted  as  aid  for  Kilpatrick. 
A  few  hundred  yards  in  advance  of  the  main  body  rode  a 
vanguard  of  two  hundred  men  thrown  forward  to  warn  us 
should  we  strike  any  considerable  number  of  the  enemy's 
cavalry.  As  is  ever  the  case,  the  horses  of  a  small  force  will 
walk  away  from  a  much  larger  body,  and  it  was  necessary 
form  time  to  time  to  send  word  to  the  vanguard,  ordering 
it  to  'slow  up.'  This  order  was  occasionally  intrusted  to  me. 
I  was  to  gallop  over  the  interval  between  the  two  columns, 
then  draw  up  by  the  roadside  and  sit  motionless  on  my 
horse  till  the  general  with  his  staff  came  up.  The  slightest 
irregularity  of  action  would  bring  a  shot  from  our  own  men, 
while  the  prospect  of  an  interview  with  the  Johnnies  while 
thus  isolated  was  always  good.  I  saw  one  of  our  officers  shot 
that  night.  He  had  ridden  carelessly  into  the  woods,  and  rode 
out  again  just  before  the  head  of  the  column,  without  in- 
stantly accounting  for  himself.  As  it  was  of  vital  impor- 
tance to  keep  the  movement  secret  as  long  as  possible,  the 
poor  fellow  was  silenced  in  sad  error  as  to  his  identity. 

"On  we  rode,  night  and  day,  with  the  briefest  possible 
halts.  At  one  point  we  nearly  captured  a  railroad  train,  and 
might  easily  have  succeeded  had  not  the  station  and  ware- 
houses been  in  flames.  As  it  was,  the  train  approached  us 
closely,  then  backed,  the  shrieking  engine  giving  the  impres- 
sion of  being  startled  to  the  last  degree. 

"On  a  dreary,  drizzling,  foggy  day  we  passed  a  mile- 
stone on  which  was  lettered,  Tour  miles  to  Richmond.'  It 
was  still  'on  to  Richmond'  with  us  for  what  seemed  a  long 
way  further,  and  then  came  a  considerable  period  of  hesi- 
tancy, in  which  the  command  was  drawn  up  for  the  final 
dash.  The  enemy  shelled  a  field  near  us  vigorously,  but  for- 
tunately, or  unfortunately,  the  fog  was  so  dense  that  neither 
party  could  make  accurate  observations  or  do  much  exe- 
cution. 

"For  reasons  that  have  passed  into  history,  the  attack 
was  not  made.  We  withdrew  six  miles  from  the  city  and 
went  into  camp. 


364        MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND 

"I  had  scarcely  begun  to  enjoy  much-needed  rest  before 
the  Confederates  came  up  in  the  darkness  and  shelled  us  out 
of  such  quarters  as  we  had  found.  We  had  to  leave  our 
boiling  coffee  behind  us — one  of  the  greatest  hardships  I 
have  ever  known.  Then  followed  a  long  night  ride  down  the 
Peninsula,  in  driving  sleet  and  rain. 

"The  next  morning  the  sun  broke  out  gloriously,  warm- 
ing and  drying  our  chilled,  wet  forms.  Nearly  all  that  day 
we  maintained  a  line  of  battle  confronting  the  pursuing 
enemy.  One  brigade  would  take  a  defensive  position,  while 
the  other  would  march  about  five  miles  to  a  commanding 
point,  where  it  in  turn  would  form  a  line.  The  first  brigade 
would  then  give  way,  pass  through  the  second,  and  take  posi- 
tion well  to  the  rear.  Thus,  although  retreating,  we  were 
always  ready  to  fight.  At  one  point  the  enemy  pressed  us 
closely,  and  I  saw  a  magnificent  cavalry  charge  down  a  gen- 
tle descent  in  the  road.  Every  sabre  seemed  tipped  with  fire 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine. 

"In  the  afternoon  it  became  evident  that  there  was  a 
body  of  troops  before  us.  Who  or  what  they  were  was  at 
first  unknown,  and  for  a  time  the  impression  prevailed  that 
we  would  have  to  cut  our  way  through  by  a  headlong  charge. 
We  soon  learned,  however,  that  the  force  was  a  brigade  of 
colored  infantry,  sent  up  to  cover  our  retreat.  It  was  the 
first  time  we  had  seen  negro  troops,  but  as  the  long  line  of 
glistening  bayonets  and  light-blue  uniforms  came  into  view, 
prejudices,  if  any  there  were,  vanished  at  once,  and  a  cheer 
from  the  begrimed  troopers  rang  down  our  line,  waking  the 
echoes.  It  was  a  pleasant  thing  to  march  past  that  array  of 
faces,  friendly  though  black,  and  know  we  were  safe.  They 
represented  the  F.F.V.'s  of  Old  Virginia  we  then  wished  to 
see.  On  the  last  day  of  the  march  my  horse  gave  out,  com- 
pelling me  to  walk  and  lead  him. 

"On  the  day  after  our  arrival  at  Yorktown  Kilpatrick 
gave  me  despatches  for  the  authorities  at  Washington. 
President  Lincoln,  learning  that  I  had  just  returned  from 
the  raid,  sent  for  me,  and  I  had  a  memorable  interview  with 


MARRIAGE— THE  RAID  TOWARD  RICHMOND         365 

him  alone  in  his  private  room.  He  expressed  profound  solic- 
itude for  Colonel  Dahlgren  and  his  party.  They  had  been 
detached  from  the  main  force,  and  I  could  give  no  informa- 
tion concerning  them.  We  eventually  learned  of  the  death 
of  that  heroic  young  officer,  Colonel  Dahlgren." 


366  HAMPTON  HOSPITAL 


CHAPTEK  V 

HAMPTON    HOSPITAL, 

IN  March,  1864,  Edward  began  his  duties  as  chaplain  of 
Hampton  Hospital,  having  been  appointed  to  this  posi- 
tion before  the  raid  described  in  the  preceding  chapter 
was  undertaken.  Mrs.  Roe  joined  him  at  Washington  and 
they  went  to  Hampton  together.  A  tribute  is  here  due  the 
brave  young  wife,  who,  leaving  a  home  of  luxury,  accepted 
without  a  word  of  regret  the  privations  of  hospital  life  and 
was  untiring  in  her  devotion  to  the  sick  and  wounded.  The 
letters  which  follow  show  what  that  life  was  during  the  last 
two  years  of  the  war.  v  The  first  is  an  appeal  for  books  for 
the  sick  soldiers  made  through  "The  Evangelist,"  and  is  pre- 
ceded by  a  note  of  explanation  from  the  editors  of  that  paper. 
"We  have  received  the  following  letter  from  the  es- 
teemed and  efficient  chaplain  of  the  Hampton  Hospital,  Vir- 
ginia, Rev.  Mr.  Roe,  who,  as  it  will  be  seen,  is  desirous  of 
securing  a  well-selected  soldiers'  library  for  the  use  of  the 
hospital.  Many  of  our  readers  formed  an  agreeable  ac- 
quaintance with  Mr.  Roe,  through  his  correspondence  with 
"The  Evangelist"  while  chaplain  of  the  Harris  Light  Cavalry; 
and  we  would  refer  all  others  for  an  estimate  of  the  man,  as 
also  of  the  nature  and  extent  of  his  duties  in  his  new  posi- 
tion, to  an  interesting  paper  in  the  August  number  of  "Har- 
per's Magazine,"  on  the  Chesapeake  and  Hampton  hospitals. 
We  shall  take  pleasure  in  aiding  this  praiseworthy  object  in 
every  way  in  our  power,  and  we  trust  that  the  money  re- 
quired for  the  purchase  of  these  books  will  be  speedily  con- 
tributed. 


HAMPTON   HOSPITAL  367 

"U.  S.  GENERAL  HOSPITAL,  FORTRESS  MONROE,  VA. 

July  27,  1864 

"  'READEES  OF  THE  EVANGELIST  : — Pardon  me  if  I  say 
a  few  plain  words  in  preface  to  a  request.  I  wish  to  appeal 
to  a  quality  that  I  hope  is  universal — gratitude.  That  the 
North  is  grateful  for  the  self-sacrifice  of  its  soldiers  is  well 
proved  by  its  noble  charities  in  their  behalf.  But,  my 
Northern  friends,  you  who  dwell  securely  in  beautiful  and 
healthful  homes,  can  you  not  give  a  little  more  for  those  who 
are  giving  all  for  you  ? 

"  'The  U.  S.  General  Hospital  at  Hampton,  Va.,  is  very 
large  this  summer.  The  average  is  two  thousand  five  hun- 
dred patients,  and  we  often  have  three  thousand.  Accom- 
modations are  in  process  of  construction  for  still  larger  num- 
bers. This  is  now  the  nearest  permanent  hospital  to  General 
Grant's  army.  Almost  daily  transports  from  the  front  leave 
at  our  wharf  sick  and  mutilated  men  by  hundreds,  and  we  in 
turn  send  those  North  who  are  able  to  bear  further  transpor- 
tation. Thus  our  wards  become  mainly  filled  with  what  are 
termed  the  "worst  cases" —  men  with  whom  the  struggle  for 
life  will  be  long  and  doubtful.  I  could  take  you  through 
our  wards,  and  show  you  long  rows  of  men  with  thigh  am- 
putations, fractured  thighs;  men  who  have  lost  arms,  hands, 
and  both  their  feet;  and  in  short,  men  with  great  gaping, 
ghastly  wounds  in  every  part  of  the  body.  With  such  in- 
juries nothing  will  sustain  but  cheerful  courage;  despon- 
dency is  almost  always  fatal.  The  only  true  basis  of  such 
courage  is  God's  religion,  but  to  this  all-important  condition 
much  can  be  added  that  is  most  excellent.  But  could  you 
ask  for  more  than  these  men  have  done  and  suffered?  I 
think  they  have  done  their  part.  Yours  is  not  so  hard,  but 
it  is  important.  In  your  abundant  provisions  for  their  suf- 
fering bodies,  do  not  forget  rations  for  their  minds.  There 
are  hundreds  in  this  hospital  who  must  lie  upon  their  beds, 
weeks,  and  even  months,  before  they  can  even  hope  to  hobble 
out  into  the  world  again  with  crutch  and  cane.  How  shall 
they  spend  these  long,  hot,  weary  days?  Give  them  cheer- 


368  HAMPTON  HOSPITAL 

ful,  entertaining,  instructive  books,  and  the  question  is 
about  solved.  Who  can  calculate  the  value  of  a  brave, 
cheerful  book?  It  stimulates  and  strengthens  the  mind, 
which  reacts  upon  the  weakened  body,  and  the  man  is  at 
once  made  stronger,  wiser,  and  better.  I  felt  that  first  of 
all  I  ought  to  have  a  religious  library,  and  through  some  ef- 
fort, and  the  kindness  of  friends,  have  obtained  a  very  fair 
collection.  But  cheerful,  light,  entertaining  books  are  few 
and  far  between,  while  there  is  almost  an  entire  dearth  of 
histories,  travels,  etc.  I  find  that  sick  soldiers,  even  the  best 
of  them,  are  like  good  people  North,  they  do  not  like  re- 
ligious reading  all  the  time.  The  works  of  Irving,  John 
S.  C.  Abbott,  Dickens,  Cooper,  Scott,  and  T.  S.  Arthur, 
would  be  invaluable  from  both  a  sanitary  and  a  moral  point 
of  view,  for  they  would  remove  the  parent  of  all  evils — idle- 
ness. Poetry  also  is  very  much  asked  for.  My  simple  re- 
quest, therefore,  is  that  out  of  gratitude  to  the  brave  suffer- 
ing men  who  throng  the  wards  of  Hampton  Hospital,  you 
would  send  them  good  cheerful  books.  I  have  an  excel- 
lent librarian,  and  I  promise  that  they  shall  be  carefully 
looked  after  and  preserved.  Among  the  thousands  who  have 
been  here  and  gone  away,  I  have  scarcely  lost  a  book. 

"  'Messrs.  Harpers,  and  Appletons,  and  other  prominent 
city  publishers,  have  generously  offered  me  their  books  at 
half  price  for  hospital  purposes.  All  contributions  in 
money  sent  to  me,  or  to  the  offices  of  the  New  York  "Evan- 
gelist," the  "Observer,"  and  the  Brooklyn  "Daily  Union" 
will  be  promptly  and  judiciously  laid  out  for  such  books  as 
are  needed.  All  contributions  in  books  sent  to  the  above- 
named  places  will  be  forwarded  to  the  hospital  in  my  care.' ' 

Some  years  after  the  war  was  over,  my  brother  took  a 
trip  to  Fortress  Monroe  and  visited  the  scenes  of  his  former 
labors.  I  quote  from  a  letter  telling  of  the  result  of  his  ap- 
peal for  a  soldiers'  library  and  of  the  subsequent  use  that  was 
made  of  the  books. 

"We  entered  the  fort,  presented  our  letter  to  General 
Barry,  in  command,  who  received  us  with  the  utmost  cour- 


HAMPTON   HOSPITAL  369 

tesy.  The  band  discoursed  delightful  music.  We  examined 
the  mitrailleuse,  of  which  the  world  has  heard  so  much  of 
late.  One  of  the  most  interesting  points  to  me  was  the  Post 
Library.  Here  among  many  others  I  found  all  the  books 
that  once  formed  our  hospital  library.  Loyal  Northern 
friends,  who  were  ever  caring  for  the  soldier's  well-being, 
enabled  me  to  gather  and  purchase  about  three  thousand  vol- 
umes. I  know  that  it  will  be  gratifying  to  them  to  learn 
that  their  gifts,  so  far  from  being  lost  or  destroyed,  are  all 
here  in  excellent  order,  and  still  doing  the  work  for  which 
they  were  designed.  When  a  book  becomes  badly  worn  it 
is  sent  away  and  rebound.  The  private  soldiers,  of  which 
there  are  several  hundred,  as  well  as  the  officers,  have  free 
access  to  them.  I  was  told  by  the  soldier  in  charge  that  be- 
tween two  and  three  hundred  of  these  books  were  taken  out 
and  read  monthly.  Under  General  Barry's  careful  super- 
vision they  will  be  in  use  for  years  to  come.  He  evidently 
regards  his  men  as  something  more  than  machines." 

It  was  inevitable  that  my  brother  should  witness  many 
sad  partings  during  those  long  years  of  conflict,  and  the 
strain  upon  his  sympathies  was  very  great,  as  may  be  seen 
from  the  letters  that  follow. 

"Among  the  painful  and  tragic  events  that  occurred  in 
our  hospital  at  Fortress  Monroe,  there  was  one  wherein 
heaven  and  earth  were  strangely  mingled.  The  arm  of  a 
strong,  powerful  man  had  been  amputated  at  the  shoulder 
joint.  He  was  full  of  vitality  and  made  a  long  but  vain 
struggle  for  life.  Day  after  day,  and  week  after  week,  he 
lay,  scarcely  daring  to  move,  lest  the  artery  should  break 
and  his  life  blood  ebb  away.  But  ever  at  his  side  (it  seemed 
to  me  that  she  almost  never  left  him)  sat  his  true,  patient 
wife.  Strange  and  incongruous  did  her  slight  and  graceful 
form,  her  pale,  beautiful  face  appear  in  that  place  of  wounds 
and  death.  The  rough  soldiers  were  never  rough  or  profane 
in  her  presence,  and  their  kindly  sympathy  often  touched  me. 
For  long  weeks  the  scale  turned  for  neither  life  nor  death, 
but  at  last  the  sharp  agony  of  hope  and  fear  ended  in  the  dull 


370  HAMPTON   HOSPITAL 

pain  of  despair.  He  must  die.  The  artery  broke  and  bled 
again  and  again,  and  skill  would  soon  be  of  no  avail.  Some 
time  previous  to  this,  a  message  had  come  to  the  poor  wife 
that  her  mother  was  dying,  and  she  was  requested  to  return 
home  immediately. 

"  'No,'  she  said,  'my  mother  is  among  friends;  my  hus- 
band is  alone;  I  must  stay  with  him.' 

"Late  one  night,  when  the  certainty  of  death  was  appar- 
ent, they  sent  for  me,  and  we  three  had  a  long,  calm  talk  in 
the  dim,  crowded  ward.  The  brave,  true  soldier  did  not  re- 
gret that  he  had  entered  his  country's  service,  though  it  cost 
him  so  dearly,  but  he  spoke  a  few  words  in  regard  to  those 
who  caused  the  war  that  must  ever  hang  upon  them  like  mill- 
stones. Turning  to  his  young  wife  with  an  affection  beauti- 
ful to  look  upon,  he  said : — 

"  'Mary,  you  have  prepared  me  to  die,  now  you  must  go 
home  and  do  the  same  for  your  poor  mother.' 

"These  brief  words  revealed  a  world  of  meaning.  She 
had  not  been  sitting  at  his  side  in  helpless  pain,  looking  with 
fearful  eyes  into  the  dreary  future  when  she  should  be  alone 
and  dependent  with  her  child  in  a  cold,  selfish  world.  For- 
getting her  own  heart-break,  she  had  been  untiring  in  her 
efforts  to  brighten  his  pathway  down  into  the  dark  valley 
with  the  hope  of  heaven.  God  had  blessed  her  angel  work, 
for  he  seemed  a  Christian.  I  went  away  from  that  bedside 
more  awed  than  if  I  had  come  from  the  presence  of  a  king. 

"Early  one  morning  I  was  hastily  summoned  to  the  ward. 
It  was  crowded  and  confused.  The  last  hours  had  now  come. 
The  artery  had  broken  away  beyond  remedy,  and  from  the 
ghastly  wound  the  poor  man's  life-blood  poured  away  in  tor- 
rents, crimsoning  the  floor  far  and  near.  His  face  was  pale 
and  wild,  for  death  had  come  at  last  in  an  awful  form.  In 
mistaken  kindness  they  had  kept  his  wife  from  him,  fearing 
the  effect  of  the  scene  upon  her.  Drawn  by  her  frantic  cries 
to  the  ward-master's  room,  I  went  and  said  to  her — 'My  poor 
friend,  you  can  go  to  your  husband,  but  for  his  sake  you  must 
be  perfectly  calm.  "We  can  do  nothing  for  him  if  he  is  ex- 


HAMPTON   HOSPITAL  371 

cited.'  For  his  sake,  ah !  yes,  for  his  sake  she  could  do  any- 
thing, even  master  the  whirlwind  of  sorrow  at  her  heart.  In 
a  moment  she  became  as  quiet  and  gentle  as  a  lamb,  and 
crept  noiselessly  to  his  side.  The  man  rallied  and  lived  a 
short  time,  and  husband  and  wife  were  left  alone.  We  may 
well  draw  the  veil  over  that  last  solemn  farewell. 

"For  a  brief  space  the  pair  sat  on  the  shores  of  time,  the 
extreme  cape  and  promontory  of  life.  All  around  rolled  the 
ocean  of  eternity.  Then  one  went  forward  into  the  un- 
known, and  the  curtain  between  the  two  worlds  fell.  In  wild 
agony  she  clasped  his  lifeless  form.  The  ward-master  sought 
tenderly  to  lift  her  and  lead  her  away.  For  a  moment  the 
tempest  in  her  soul  found  expression  and  she  sprang  upon 
him  like  a  tigress.  Then  came  again  the  strange,  unnatural 
calm  like  that  when  the  Master  said,  'Peace,  be  still!' 
Quietly,  thoughtfully  she  made  all  her  arrangements  and 
soon  went  northward  to  her  dying  mother,  taking  the  precious 
dust  of  him  she  had  loved  with  her,  and  we  saw  her  no  more. 
But  her  sad,  pale,  patient  face  will  haunt  me  through  life. 

"If  all  the  bits  of  romance  in  these  hospitals  were  gath- 
ered up  they  would  make  volumes.  I  will  instance  only  two 
cases. 

"It  is  somewhat  common  to  get  shot  now,  and  yet  for  all 
that  it  is  none  the  less  rather  a  painful  and  tragical  experi- 
ence. Well,  two  of  our  soldiers  were  shot;  one  had  hia  arm 
taken  off,  and  the  other  lost  an  arm  and  a  leg  also.  They 
both  wrote  to  their  respective  fair  ones,  expressing  the  fear 
that  they  would  no  longer  wish  to  unite  themselves  with  such 
mutilated  specimens  of  humanity,  and  if  such  were  their  feel- 
ings they  were  free.  The  female  engaged  to  the  man  who  had 
lost  an  arm  availed  herself  of  his  release.  She  could  not 
think  of  marrying  him  under  such  circumstances.  The  blow 
was  fatal  to  the  poor  fellow.  He  became  hopelessly  de- 
ranged, and  is  now  in  the  asylum  in  this  city.  Still,  con- 
sidering her  character,  perhaps  he  escaped  a  worse  fate. 

"The  lady  engaged  to  the  soldier  who  had  lost  both  his 
arm  and  leg  replied  that  she  honored  him  for  his  wounds; 


372  HAMPTON  HOSPITAL 

that  she  loved  him  all  the  more  for  his  patriotism  and  the 
heroism  which  led  him  to  incur  them ;  and  that  if  he  would 
permit  her  she  would  come  on,  and  take  care  of  him.  She 
did  so,  and  married  him." 

One  turns  with  a  feeling  of  relief,  after  the  harrowing 
details  in  the  letters  already  given,  to  this  account  of  the 
Christmas  festivities  at  Hampton  Hospital. 

"We  are  told  that  'the  desert  shall  blossom  as  the  rose/ 
We  believe  it,  for  even  the  hospital — the  house  of  disease 
and  wounds,  the  spot  ever  shadowed  by  the  wings  of  the  dark 
angel — even  this  place  of  sombre  associations  can  wreathe  it- 
self in  festive  garlands  and  resound  with  songs.  Doctor 
McClellan,  surgeon  in  charge,  has  the  enlightened  opinion 
that  pills  and  physics  are  not  the  only  health-restoring  influ- 
ences that  can  be  brought  to  bear  upon  his  patients.  All  ef- 
forts to  celebrate  the  holidays  with  spirit  have  received  his 
hearty  sympathy  and  cooperation.  The  joyous  season,  so  full 
of  happy  memories,  has  not  passed  in  dull  monotony. 
Though  winds  blew  high  and  cold,  still,  throughout  Thurs- 
day, Friday,  and  Saturday,  the  axes  rang  merrily  in  the 
woods.  Huge  masses  of  holly,  cedar,  and  pine  might  be 
seen  moving  toward  the  different  wards,  and  approaching 
near  you  would  find  a  nurse  or  convalescent  staggering  along 
beneath  the  green  and  fragrant  burden.  Under  the  magic 
of  many  skilful  hands  the  pliant  boughts  are  soon  tied  and 
twisted  into  a  thousand  devices.  Men  with  only  one  hand 
worked  with  the  rest.  Men  possessing  but  a  single  leg  were 
busy  as  the  others.  Thump,  thump,  over  the  floor  go  the 
crutches,  as  old  battered  veterans  hobbled  about  in  all  direc- 
tions, to  view  in  different  lights  the  artistic  and  fantastic  re- 
sults of  their  labors.  Even  the  dull  face  of  chronic  pain 
lights  up  and  wanly  smiles,  while  dim  eyes,  fast  closing  on 
earthly  scenes,  gaze  wistfully  on  the  fragrant  evergreens  and 
query  to  themselves  if  they  are  to  be  the  symbols  of  their 
memories  at  distant  homes. 

"But  though  many  wards  blossomed  out  into  holiday  gar- 
lands, the  crowning  glories  of  the  kind  were  to  be  found  in 


HAMPTON   HOSPITAL  373 

Ward  C.  Quaint  devices,  hanging  festoons,  wreaths  and 
shields  and  graceful  arches,  draped  the  place  in  varied  beau- 
ties like  the  tapestry  of  old.  which  turned  rough  and  gloomy 
apartments  into  warm  and  silken  bowers.  The  feathery 
cedar,  tasselled  pine,  and  far-famed  laurel  formed  the  rich 
background  for  the  bright  berries  of  the  Christmas  holly 
which  glistened  like  rubies  set  in  emerald  folds.  Flags  were 
looped  across  the  stage,  and  the  curtains  in  the  rear  also 
showed  the  stars  and  stripes.  The  hospital  choir  and  glee- 
club  had  here  prepared  an  entertainment  most  agreeable  to 
the  tastes  of  all.  Their  motto,  a  beautiful  transparency,  ex- 
plains its  character,  'We  come  with  songs  to  greet  you.'  As 
darkness  fell  a  throng  surrounded  every  door.  Up  the  high 
steps  to  the  main  entrance,  an  hour  before  the  doors  were 
opened,  crowding,  jostling  hundreds  gathered,  seeming  like 
a  human  wave  lifted  by  some  powerful  impulse  from  the  sea 
of  heads  below.  Around  the  building  in  circling  eddies, 
knots  of  men  sauntered  talking,  wondering,  and  anticipating 
concerning  the  pleasures  of  the  evening.  Above  the  sway- 
ing masses  numerous  crutches  might  be  seen.  Thus  raised 
aloft  they  seemed  like  standards,  showing  well  the  spirit  of 
our  soldiers.  It  is  not  in  wounds  to  keep  them  at  home.  If 
they  have  the  sad  misfortune  not  to  have  two  legs  beneath 
them,  they  are  sure  to  go  on  one  if  anything  unusual  calls 
them  out.  Within,  now,  the  lamps  are  lighted,  down  the 
long  and  echoing  ward,  and  through  the  festoons  and  glisten- 
ing arches,  they  wink  and  twinkle  like  fireflies  in  a  cedar  for- 
est. The  doors  are  opened  and,  under  Doctor  McClellan's 
wise  and  careful  supervision,  at  least  a  thousand  persons  are 
soon  admitted  and  seated.  Those  not  so  fortunate  as  to  get 
seats  fill  every  space  of  standing  room.  The  hall  is  full,  and 
those  who  cannot  gain  admittance  crowd  around  outside  the 
windows,  where  faces  gleam  in  the  fitful  light,  like  framed 
and  grotesque  pictures. 

"At  a  given  signal  the  orchestra  commenced,  and  the  hum 
and  buzz  of  many  voices  died  away  like  a  breeze  in  the  forest. 
But  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  describe  music — songs  and  an- 


374  HAMPTON  HOSPITAL 

thems  that  seem  like  living  spirits  which  by  powerful  spells 
may  be  called  up  to  float  and  pass  before  you,  and  stir  the  soul 
with  magic  influences.  It  was  no  rude  affair.  Ears  that 
have  been  educated  at  the  Academy  of  Music  would  have 
tingled  with  novel  and  delightful  sensations,  could  they  have 
heard  those  deep,  rich  soldiers'  voices  accompanied  by  our 
lady  nurses,  and  the  lady  teachers  of  the  Tyler  House,  chant- 
ing our  national  anthems,  or  exciting  irresistible  mirth  by 
their  comic  songs.  Mr.  Tilden's  ripe,  powerful,  mellow  voice 
moved  every  heart,  and  more  than  satisfied  the  nicest  and 
most  critical  ear.  Mr.  George  Terry,  changeful  as  an  April 
day,  now  convulsed  the  audience  with  laughter,  and  again, 
a  moment  afterward,  caused  all  eyes  to  overflow.  Mrs. 
Meachann,  Miss  Eastman,  Mr.  Sears,  and  Mr.  Allen  sustained 
their  parts  with  marked  ability,  and  little  Miss  Mary  White 
brought  down  the  house  by  singing  a  ballad  whose  simple 
beauty  was  universally  appreciated.  But  where  all  perfectly 
performed  the  parts  assigned  to  them,  it  is  almost  invidious 
to  make  distinctions.  Mr.  Metcalf,  the  leader  of  the  choir, 
must  have  been  satisfied  with  the  performances,  as  certainly 
all  others  were.  'Home,  Sweet  Home,'  closed  the  entertain- 
ment, and  carried  us  all  back  to  that  dear  and  never-to-be- 
forgotten  place.  Again  in  fancy  we  gathered  around  the 
familiar  hearthstone,  made  warm  and  bright  by  blazing  fire 
and  sweet  memories  of  other  days.  God  grant  that  another 
Christmas  day  may  find  us  all  there. 

"But  in  the  hospital  there  were  hundreds  confined  by 
sickness,  wounds,  and  weakness  to  their  beds.  However 
good  their  will  may  have  been  they  were  physically  unable  to 
join  with  their  more  fortunate  companions  in  outside  enjoy- 
ments. They  were  not  forgotten  or  neglected.  On  Sabbath 
afternoon  the  choir  again  assembled,  and  commencing  with 
Ward  One,  we  passed  through  fourteen  wards,  making  the 
old  walls  ring  again  with  Christmas  anthems.  This,  with 
wishing  the  patients  a  merry  Christmas,  and  that  another  re- 
turn of  the  happy  day  might  find  them  all  safe  at  home,  and 
the  reading,  in  Luke  ii.,  of  the  angelic  announcement  to  the 


HAMPTON  HOSPITAL  375 

shepherds  of  the  'unspeakable  gift'  to  us  all,  constituted  the 
simple  service.  On  Monday  there  was  much  high  feeding. 
Sleek  cattle  and  corpulent  pigs  were  roasted  whole,  and  there 
was  a  powerful  mortality  in  the  hospital  poultry-yard.  Men 
who  could  never  carve  their  fortunes  showed  wonderful  abil- 
ity in  carving  turkey.  These  substantial  luxuries,  seasoned 
by  the  recent  victories,  made  for  us  a  royal  feast,  to  which 
the  sovereigns  in  blue  sat  down  with  unmingled  satisfaction." 


376  THE   HOSPITAL   FARM   AND   CHAPEL 


CHAPTEE  VI 

THE    HOSPITAL    FABM    AND    CHAPEL 

IN  a  letter  to  the  Hon.  William  Cullen  Bryant,  then  editor 
of  the  "Evening  Post,"  Edward  gives  an 'account  of  the 
establishment  of  his  hospital  farm,  and  tells  of  its  benefit 
to  the  men  under  his  care. 

"HoN.  WILLIAM  C.  BRYANT — DEAR  SIR:  The  meeting 
in  behalf  of  'New  York's  disabled  soldiers'  has  deeply  inter- 
ested me  and  awakened  many  war  memories.  During  the 
last  two  years  of  the  Rebellion  I  had  some  experience,  in  a 
small  way,  which  may  suggest  useful  features  in  a  Soldiers' 
Home.  At  that  time  I  was  one  of  the  chaplains  of  the  Eort- 
ress  Monroe  hospitals,  and  the  campaigns  in  the  vicinity  of 
Petersburg  and  Richmond  often  filled  our  long  barrack?  to 
repletion  and  also  covered  the  adjacent  acres  with  temporary 
tent  wards.  Lying  around  the  hospital  there  was  an  abun- 
dance of  idle  and  unf  enced  land.  With  the  sanction  of  Doc- 
tor McClellan,  the  surgeon  in  charge,  I  had  this  enclosed 
and  planted  with  such  vegetables  as  were  most  useful  and 
conducive  to  health,  the  odorous  onion  taking  the  lead.  The 
tulip  mania  had  its  day,  but  the  weakness  of  average  human- 
ity for  this  bulb  is  as  old  as  history — see  Numbers  xi.,  5 — 
and  apparently  it  is  only  growing  more  prevalent  with  the 
ages.  If  this  is  evolution  in  the  wrong  direction  Mr.  Huxley 
should  look  after  it. 

"The  labor  of  the  hospital  farm  was  performed  by  the 
patients  themselves,  and  very  many  soon  became  deeply  in- 
terested in  their  tasks.  When  a  man  became  so  far  conva- 
lescent from  illness  or  wounds  as  to  be  able  to  do  a  little  work, 


THE   HOSPITAL   FARM    AND   CHAPEL  377 

he  was  detailed  for  the  garden  and  employed  in  its  lighter 
labors.  As  he  grew  stronger  he  was  put  at  heavier  work. 
Heroes  who  had  lost  arms  and  legs  supplemented  each  other's 
deficiencies,  the  two  maimed  men  contriving  to  do  between 
them  far  more  than  many  a  stout  fellow  who  now  demands 
$1.50  a  day.  A  man  with  one  hand  could  sow  seed  and  weed 
the  growing  vegetables,  while  his  comrade  hitched  along  on 
his  crutch  and  vigorously  hoed  the  ground  between  the  rows. 
I  sometimes  had  as  many  as  a  hundred  men  at  work,  and  I 
ever  found  that  such  tasks  benefited  body  and  soul.  It  did 
one's  heart  good  to  see  pallid  faces  grow  brown  and  ruddy, 
and  flabby  muscles  round  and  hard.  It  did  one  more  good 
thus  easily  to  banish  homesickness  and  the  miserable  incubus 
of  ennui  from  which  the  sufferer  is  prone  to  seek  relief  in 
some  form  of  vicious  excitement.  For  the  satisfaction  of 
those  who  ask  for  more  practical  results  I  can  state  that  we 
were  able  to  send  green  vegetables  to  the  hospital  kitchens 
by  the  wagonload.  As  the  record  of  the  second  year  at  the 
farm,  made  at  the  time,  I  find  among  other  items  the  follow- 
ing :  700  bushels  of  snap  beans  in  the  pod,  120  do.  lima  beans, 
130  do.  carrots,  125  do.  peas,  470  do.  potatoes,  250  do.  to- 
matoes, 1,500  bunches  of  green  onions,  30,000  heads  of  cab- 
bage, 26,900  ears  of  sweet  corn,  2,5000  muskmelons,  etc.  A 
large  poultry  yard,  enclosing  four  acres,  was  also  built,  and 
many  other  improvements  made,  all  being  accomplished  by 
the  willing  labor  of  the  convalescents  themselves,  who  more 
rapidly  regained  their  strength  while  thus  furnishing  the 
means  of  health  to  those  still  confined  within  the  walls. 

"Recalling  these  facts  I  am  greatly  pleased  to  learn  that 
the  'New  York  Home'  is  to  be  located  on  a  farm,  for  thus  it 
may  be  made  a  home  in  reality.  Providence  put  the  first 
man  into  a  garden,  and  few  men  have  lived  since  who  have 
not  felt  more  at  home  when  a  garden  lay  about  the  door." 

During  the  years  that  Edward  was  at  Hampton  Hospital, 
his  friend  Mr.  Merwin  was  doing  a  noble  work  among  the 
soldiers  in  the  hospitals  at  the  front,  under  the  direction  of 
the  Christian  Commission.  My  brother  at  one  time  wished 


378  THE    HOSPITAL    FARM    AND    CHAPEL 

to  be  relieved  of  his  duties  as  chaplain  for  several  weeks,  and 
Mr.  Merwin  kindly  consented  to  take  his  place.  He  after- 
wards wrote  of  this  time : — 

"I  found  that  Edward's  presence  among  the  sick  and 
wounded  was  sadly  missed,  and  that  he  had  labored  in  many 
ways  to  contribute  to  their  comfort  and  happiness.  He 
brought  from  the  Xorth  an  experienced  farmer  and  supplied 
the  hospital  with  an  abundance  of  excellent  vegetables.  Sub- 
sequently a  church  was  erected  by  his  efforts  for  the  growing 
needs  of  that  post." 

While  absent  at  the  Xorth  my  brother  raised  most  of  the 
funds  necessary  to  build  this  chapel  at  Hampton.  When  he 
revisited  the  place  years  afterward,  he  found  the  chapel  still 
in  use.  He  was  gratified  also  to  learn  that  the  hospital  li- 
brary continued  to  be  of  service.  He  says: 

"Some  of  us  rode  out  to  the  former  site  of  the  hospital. 
Many  pleasant  changes  have  occurred.  The  acres  of  ground 
occupied  by  sick  and  wounded  men  are  now  covered  with 
orchards  and  the  homes  of  peaceful  industry.  The  hospital 
garden  has  in  part  become  the  grounds  of  a  college  for  f reed- 
men,  and  is  in  a  high  state  of  cultivation.  The  college  itself 
is  a  fine  building,  and  under  the  able,  energetic  administra- 
tion of  General  Armstrong,  is  full  of  promise  for  the  race 
that  we  have  so  long  kept  in  ignorance.  He  is  teaching  them 
many  things  of  vital  use,  and  among  these  one  of  the  most 
important  is  a  wise,  economical  culture  of  the  ground.  The 
chapel  to  which  we  have  referred  is  inclosed  within  the  ceme- 
tery grounds,  and  only  needs  a  few  repairs  now  and  then,  to 
preserve  it  a  substantial  church  for  many  years  to  come.  I 
was  told  that  there  had  been  religious  services  in  it  nearly 
every  Sabbath  since  the  war. 

"The  soldiers'  monument,  now  seen  for  the  first  time,  im- 
pressed me  most  favorably.  In  its  severe  simplicity  it  truth- 
fully commemorates  the  lives  and  characters  of  those  who 
sleep  beneath.  Over  three  hundred  dollars  was  given  to  me 
by  the  soldiers  in  twenty-five  and  fifty  cent  stamps  and  one- 
dollar  bills,  and  with  some  these  gifts  were  almost  like  the 


THE   HOSPITAL   FARM    AND    CHAPEL  379 

widow's  mite — all  they  had.  It  was  most  gratifying  to  see 
how  nobly  their  wish  and  purpose  had  been  carried  out. 
That  it  has  been  so  is  due  to  that  friend  of  the  soldier  and 
of  all  humanity,  Miss  D.  L.  Dix,  who  to  the  mites  of  the  hos- 
pital patients  added  thousands  of  dollars  collected  elsewhere." 

From  another  letter  I  take  Edward's  description  of  the 
chapel. 

"The  building  is  cruciform  in  its  shape,  and  at  the  foot 
rises  a  light  and  graceful  tower  and  spire,  sixty  feet  high, 
surmounted  by  a  cross  showing  each  way.  The  style  of  archi- 
tecture is  Gothic.  The  chapel-room  is  thirty  feet  by  sixty, 
with  a  high,  arched  ceiling.  It  is  beautifully  and  smoothly 
plastered,  and  whitened  with  a  hard  finish.  Two  aisles  run 
down  the  room,  thus  making  three  tiers  of  seats.  These  are 
somewhat  Gothic  in  their  form,  and  are  stained  black-walnut, 
surmounted  by  a  white  round  moulding,  which  makes  a 
pleasing  contrast.  In  the  place  where  the  head  of  the  cross 
should  have  been,  there  is  merely  a  small  projection  from  the 
main  building,  forming  in  the  large  chapel-room  an  alcove  or 
recess.  A  beautiful  Gothic  frame  containing  two  medium- 
sized  and  one  large  window  of  stained  glass  forms  the  rear  of 
this  projection,  and  aids  in  lighting  the  room.  All  the  win- 
dows in  the  chapel  part  are  of  stained  glass,  and  they  render 
the  light  very  soft  and  pleasant.  I  found  them  about  as  cheap 
as  curtains,  and  much  more  pretty  and  durable.  The  space  in 
the  alcove  is  occupied  by  a  slightly  raised  platform  and  a 
plain,  simple  pulpit  still  lacking  a  cushion.  It  is  a  very  easy 
room  to  speak  in,  and  in  it  music  sounds  remarkably  well. 
The  left  arm  of  the  cross,  towards  the  hospital,  constitutes 
the  library,  and  is  a  large,  airy  room,  thirty  feet  by  twenty- 
four,  furnished  with  tables,  book-shelves,  and  reading-desks. 
Our  collection  of  books  is  said  to  be  one  of  the  finest  in  the 
hospital  service.  Here  also  will  be  found  the  magazines, 
dailies,  and  weeklies,  and  prominent  among  our  files  will  be 
'The  Evangelist.'  The  right  arm  of  the  cross  consists  of 
four  small  but  pleasant  rooms,  and  will  now  be  used  as  the 
chaplain's  quarters,  and  at  some  future  time  as  a  parsonage. 


380  THE   HOSPITAL    FARM   AND    CHAPEL 

"The  building  is  of  a  dark  color,  with  white  doors  and 
window-frames.  Around  the  entire  structure  has  been  built 
a  rustic  Gothic  fence,  constructed  of  smooth  pine  poles,  and 
forming  a  heart-shaped  enclosure.  Therefore  we  have  the 
following  device :  the  church  in  the  centre  of  the  heart." 

Soon  after  Edward's  return  from  the  North  to  his  work 
at  the  hospital  there  was  a  marked  revival  of  religion  among 
the  sick  and  wounded  men.  He  says : — 

"I  think  the  most  marked  feature  of  the  revival  is  the 
reclamation  of  those  who  have  gone  astray — who  have 
found  the  temptations  of  camp  life  too  powerful  to  be  re- 
sisted. Since  I  have  been  in  the  service  I  have  met  hun- 
dreds of  soldiers  who  acknowledged  that  they  had  been  pro- 
fessors of  religion  at  home.  They  had  entered  the  army 
with  the  best  of  intentions,  but  the  lack  of  Sabbath  privi- 
leges, of  the  sacred  influences  of  the  hearth,  and  all  the  num- 
berless aids  which  bolster  up  a  church  member  at  the  North, 
together  with  the  strong  and  positive  allurements  to  sin  in 
the  field,  had  discovered  to  them  their  weakness  and  they  had 
fallen.  But  in  most  cases  it  would  seem  that  the  old  vital 
spark  still  smouldered  at  the  bottom  of  their  hearts.  Ac- 
cording to  their  own  confessions,  they  are  restless  and  dis- 
satisfied, and  unable  to  attain  to  the  stolid  or  reckless  apathy 
of  those  who  have  never  tasted  of  the  heavenly  manna.  Put 
them  under  the  influence  of  an  earnest  prayer-meeting  or 
faithful  sermon,  and  they  are  like  old  rheumatic  flies  in  an 
April  sun,  or  the  apparently  dead  and  leafless  trees  in  the 
warm  breath  of  spring,  or  the  veteran  soldier  who  hears  the 
familiar  call  to  arms  after  years  of  ignoble  peace.  It  is  very 
interesting  to  watch  them  in  our  meetings.  The  first  even- 
ing they  take  seats  far  back,  and  look  around  with  an  uneasy 
air,  as  if  almost  ashamed  to  be  seen.  The  next  evening  they 
sit  near  the  leader.  They  soon  venture  to  respond  faintly  to 
some  of  the  more  earnest  prayers.  At  last,  unable  to  re- 
strain the  rising  tide  of  feeling,  they  rise  up,  and  often  with 
tears  and  penitence  confess  their  backslidings,  resolve  to  be 
faithful  hereafter,  and  ask  the  prayers  of  all  present  that 


THE   HOSPITAL    FARM   AND    CHAPEL  381 

they  may  never  be  so  weak  as  to  wander  again.  They  then 
take  their  places  among  those  whom  I  call  the  fighting  part 
of  the  congregation — those  whose  active  aid  I  can  rely  upon. 

"In  one  of  the  wards,  where  'the  straightforward  Chris- 
tian' (as  I  call  him)  is  on  duty,  they  are  having  a  little  revival 
by  themselves.  He  gives  its  inmates  no  peace  till  they  be- 
come Christians  in  self-defence.  During  the  beautiful 
moonlight  nights  of  last  month,  he  organized  a  little  prayer- 
meeting,  which  met  on  the  banks  of  an  arm  of  the  bay  that 
runs  up  into  the  mainland  near  the  ward,  and  there  claimed 
and  verified  the  promise  of  'Where  two  or  three  are  gathered 
together  in  My  name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of  them.' 

"God  does  seem  near  the  soldiers,  and  the  soldiers  as  a 
general  thing  are  ready  to  respond  to  His  gracious  invita- 
tions, not  only  here  but  elsewhere,  and  in  fact  in  every  place 
where  Christians  are  willing  to  come  down,  or  rather  up  to 
their  level,  and  work  among  them  with  a  genuine,  heartfelt 
sympathy. 

"In  a  recent  letter  from  the  front,  my  brother,  Rev.  Al- 
fred C.  Roe,  Chaplain  104th  K  Y.  V.,  writes:  'We  have 
weekly  and  almost  daily  conversions.  Our  prayer-meetings, 
though  held  in  the  trenches,  and  often  in  close  proximity  to 
the  enemy,  are  largely  attended,  and  unless  prevented  by  im- 
portant business  the  colonel  is  always  present.  The  staff  at 
headquarters  is  like  a  Christian  family.' 

"I  have  found  by  experience  that  the  formal  presenta- 
tion of  Gospel  truth  once  a  week  by  an  officer  in  chaplain's 
uniform,  or  in  any  other,  does  not  amount  to  much,  unless 
faithfully  followed  up  by  personal  effort  and  the  social 
prayer-meeting.  The  religion  of  our  Saviour,  presented  in 
the  spirit  of  our  Saviour,  rarely  fails  to  move  even  the  rough 
soldier.  I  have  found  a  most  efficient  colaborer  in  Chaplain 
Billingsly,  also  in  Chaplain  Raymond." 


382  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS 


CHAPTEK   VII 

PASTORATE    AT    HIGHLAND    FALLS 

SOON  after  the  close  of  the  war  Edward  accepted  a  call 
to  the  little  church  at  Highland  Falls,  about  a  mile 
below  West  Point.  This  was  his  only  charge,  and 
here  he  spent  nine  happy,  useful  years.  His  first  impres- 
sions of  the  church  and  congregation  may  be  gathered  from 
the  following  letter. 

"  I  found  myself  in  a  true  orthodox  Presbyterian  church, 
for  although  the  thermometer  stood  far  below  zero  and  the 
roads  were  snowy  and  unbroken,  still  the  number  of  ladies 
present  far  exceeded  that  of  the  gentlemen.  I  regarded  this 
fact  as  a  good  omen,  for  if  a  pastor  can  depend  upon  a  few 
strong-hearted  women  (not  strong-minded  in  the  cant  sense 
of  the  phrase),  he  has  only  to  go  forward  prudently  to  certain 
success.  Summing  up  the  entire  congregation,  small  and 
great,  it  nearly  made  that  number  so  well  known,  alas,  in 
country  churches,  which  is  appropriately  termed  'a.  handful.' 

"These  good  people  were  thinly  scattered  over  a  plain 
little  audience  room  that  would  seat  comfortably  one  hundred 
and  twenty.  The  church  was  bitter  cold,  and  the  situation 
of  the  pulpit,  between  the  two  doors,  seemed  designed  to  chill 
anything  like  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  the  speaker.  The 
construction  of  the  building  bore  evidence  that  some  architect 
of  the  olden  time  determined  to  achieve  celebrity,  in  that  he 
placed  its  back  toward  the  street  and  faced  it  toward  noth- 
ing in  particular.  This,  with  minor  eccentricities,  really  en- 
titled the  edifice  to  the  antiquarian's  attention.  But  I  in- 
tend not  a  disrespectful  word  against  the  little  church,  for 


PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS  383 

precious   souls   have  been   gathered  there   and   trained   for 
heaven." 

It  was  in  February  that  Edward  received  a  unanimous 
call  to  this  church,  and  from  that  time  he  gave  himself  up 
to  the  work  of  collecting  funds  for  the  erection  of  a  new 
building.  The  majority  of  the  people  were  not  wealthy  and 
many  of  them  were  very  poor,  but  they  did  all  they  possibly 
could,  many  giving  at  the  cost  of  great  personal  sacrifice. 
The  brunt  of  the  enterprise,  however,  necessarily  fell  upon 
my  brother.  About  this  time  he  began  giving  lectures  on 
his  experiences  in  the  Civil  War,  often  travelling  many  miles 
to  deliver  them,  going  wherever  there  was  a  chance  to  make 
money  and  so  help  forward  his  cherished  object.  He  also 
obtained  large  sums  from  wealthy  city  churches  and  from 
friends,  through  personal  solicitation. 

At  the  end  of  two  years  Edward  and  his  co-workers  felt 
justified  in  laying  the  corner-stone  of  the  new  church.  Here 
is  his  description  of  the  ceremony. 

"Patient  effort  seldom  fails  of  its  reward,  and  the  day 
we  had  long  toiled  and  prayed  for,  when  we  could  lay  the 
corner-stone  of  our  new  church,  at  length  arrived.  The  16th 
of  September  dawned,  cloudy  and  dubious,  like  the  com- 
mencement of  the  enterprise.  The  morning  hours  brought 
disappointment  and  heavy  rain,  as  the  two  long  years  of 
work  and  waiting  had  brought  many  discouragements.  Rev. 
Dr.  William  Adams  of  New  York,  who  was  to  have  made  the 
address,  was  unavoidably  detained;  and  the  skies  frowned  so 
darkly  it  was  thought  best  to  defer  the  ceremony.  But  be- 
fore the  hour  appointed  there  was  a  general  brightening  up. 
The  clouds  broke  away  and  vanished  over  Crow  Nest  and  the 
adjoining  mountains.  The  sun  smiled  out  in  irresistible  in- 
vitation and  the  people  gathered  in  such  numbers  that  it  was 
thought  best  to  go  forward  with  the  ceremony.  This  we  were 
most  anxious  to  do,  as  the  North  River  Presbytery  had  hon- 
ored our  church  as  the  place  of  its  Fall  meeting,  and  most 
of  its  members  could  upon  this  day  be  present  with  us. 

"As  the  shadows  were  lengthening  eastward,  we  gathered 


384  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS 

among  the  evergreens  that  surround  the  solid  foundation  of 
the  new  edifice.  It  was  just  such  a  gathering  as  we  love  to 
see  at  a  church — representatives  from  every  age  and  class 
in  the  community.  Little  barefooted  urchins  climbed  up 
into  the  cedars  and  looked  on  with  wondering  eyes.  All 
right!  the  church  is  as  truly  for  them  as  for  the  President,, 
should  he  honor  us  with  a  visit.  In  a  huge  block  of  granite 
at  the  northeast  corner  of  the  building  a  receptacle  had  been 
cut.  .Around  this  we  gathered.  The  Hon.  John  Bigelow, 
our  former  Minister  to  France,  commenced  the  simple  cere- 
mony with  a  very  happy  address.  In  simple  periods  of 
classic  beauty  he  spoke  of  church  edifices  as  the  highest 
and  most  disinterested  expressions  of  the  benevolence  and  cul- 
ture of  a  community ;  and  in  words  that  were  good  omens  of 
the  future  he  dwelt  upon  the  beneficent  influences  flowing 
therefrom.  The  Pastor  next  came  forward,  and  stated  that 
a  copy  of  the  Scriptures  only,  as  published  by  the  American 
Bible  Society,  would  be  deposited  in  the  stone.  In  this  sol- 
emn and  emblematic  act  we  wished  to  leave  out  everything 
that  would  take  from  the  simplicity  and  force  of  the  figure. 
God's  Word  alone  in  its  purity  should  underlie  the  material 
structure,  and  so  we  hoped  TTia  Word  alone,  unmixed  and 
undistorted  by  human  opinions,  would  be  the  foundation  of 
the  spiritual  church  that  should  be  built  there  in  coming 
years.  Therefore  no  papers,  coins,  or  records  of  any  kind, 
were  placed  in  the  sealed  box  with  the  Bible.  If  after  the 
lapse  of  centuries  this  solid  wall  were  taken  down,  this  soli- 
tary Bible,  unmarred  by  pen  or  pencil,  will  be  a  clearer  rec- 
ord than  long  and  formal  documents,  of  a  church  that  sought 
to  honor  God,  and  not  man,  and  to  keep  His  name  before  the 
people,  and  not  that  of  some  human  instrument.  With  the 
usual  words  the  massy  block  of  granite  was  lowered  to  its 
place,  and,  humanly  speaking,  generations  will  pass  away 
before  these  leaves  again  are  turned. 

"The  Rev.  Dr.  Wheeler  of  Poughkeepsie,  who  kindly 
offered  to  act  in  Dr.  Adams's  place,  spoke  in  a  vein  of  strong 
original  eloquence  which  chained  the  attention  of  all  for  a 


PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS  385 

brief  time.  As  an  impromptu  effort  it  was  singularly  appro- 
priate and  hope-inspiring.  He  closed  with  a  prayer,  in  the 
fervor  of  which  a  lady  said  that  she  could  almost  see  the 
walls  and  spire  rising  to  beautiful  and  entire  completion. 
Rev.  Mr.  Teal  of  Cornwall  pronounced  the  benediction,  and 
thus  closed  the  ceremony. 

"We  are  building  of  the  blue  granite  found  in  abundance 
upon  the  ground.  The  walls  rise  from  the  rocky  foundation 
in  massive  thickness  of  plain,  hammer-dressed  stone,  and  thus 
are  in  keeping  with  the  rugged  mountain  scenery.  Time 
will  rather  strengthen  the  work  than  weaken  it.  We  build 
from  the  rock  with  the  rock,  and  trust  that  the  great  Spirit- 
ual Rock  will  underlie  it  all. 

"It  will  cost  us  twenty  thousand  dollars  to  complete  the 
church,  and  of  this  sum  we  have  on  hand,  or  promised, 
nearly  half.  The  building  is  under  contract  to  be  finished 
the  first  of  June  next,  and  whatever  indebtedness  there  ex- 
ists will  be  provided  for  by  a  mortgage.  The  ladies  of  the 
church  and  the  Sabbath-school  children  have  pledged  them- 
selves by  fairs  and  concerts  to  provide  for  the  interest  of  the 
debt  until  the  principal  :  paid.  The  people  are  proving  that 
they  are  in  earnest  o  their  deeds.  By  their  hearty  sym- 
pathy and  co-operation,  Mr.  Cozzens,  the  proprietor  of  the 
hotel,  and  his  lady  have  greatly  contributed  to  our  success. 

"The  guests  of  the  house  have  been  very  liberal  and  at- 
tentive, and  show  an  increasing  interest  in  the  enterprise. 
At  a  time  of  hesitancy  and  doubt  a  generous  gift  of  five  hun- 
dred dollars,  from  C.  K.  Garrison,  Esq.,  of  New  York,  soon 
after  followed  by  five  hundred  dollars  more  from  Richard 
Schell,  Esq.,  enabled  us  to  go  forward  with  hope  and  confi- 
dence. Mr.  Garrison  is  a  native  of  our  region,  and  happy 
would  it  be  for  the  country  if,  following  his  example,  those 
who  have  won  wealth  and  distinction  abroad  would  return 
and  enrich  their  birthplace  by  such  noble  proofs  of  their 
benevolence.  Monuments  of  this  kind  perpetuate  one's  name 
better  than  tombstones.  Among  the  summer  worshippers  at 
our  little  church  under  the  trees,  we  have  been  glad  to  rec- 

R— ^ 


386  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND   FALLS 

ognize  so  long  the  kindly  face  of  Rev.  J.  Q.  Craighead  of 
the  'Evangelist/  and  long  and  gratefully  will  our  people 
remember  his  words  from  the  pulpit  and  in  the  social  meet- 
ing. Rev.  Dr.  Robinson  of  Harrisburgh,  Pa.,  has  also  been 
one  of  our  summer  residents,  and  one  that  we  shall  soon  sadly 
miss." 

Four  years  longer  minister  and  people  worked  unceas- 
ingly in  the  interests  of  their  new  church,  my  brother  con- 
tinuing to  give  his  lectures  wherever  opportunity  offered. 
One  delivered  at  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  was  quoted  at 
some  length  in  a  daily  paper  of  that  city,  and  is  here 
reprinted. 

"The  Rev.  E.  P.  Roe,  of  West  Point,  lectured  last  night 
before  a  fair  audience,  at  Harrington's  Opera  House,  under 
the  auspices  of  Prescott  Post  ISTo  1,  G.  A.  R.,  on  'Secret  Ser- 
vice at  the  Front;  or  Scouting  and  Guerillas.'  During  the 
war,  said  the  speaker,  the  northern  people  regarded  guer- 
illas as  irresponsible  bands  of  outlaws,  living  by  violence  and 
plunder,  and  while  leaning  to  and  assisting  the  rebels,  ready 
to  murder  and  rob  without  much  regard  for  either  side.  The 
majority  of  the  guerillas  were,  no  doubt,  as  bad  as  gen- 
erally supposed,  but  there  were  among  them  trusty  and  intel- 
ligent scouts,  whose  employment  was  to  trace  out  the  position 
and  movements  of  the  Union  army,  and  who,  no  matter  how 
much  robbing  and  murdering  they  might  do  on  their  own 
account,  never  lost  sight  of  the  main  object  of  their  service. 
The  acuteness  of  these  scouts  and  the  various  disguises  which 
they  assumed  were  more  than  surprising.  As  a  division  of 
the  Union  army  passed  along,  an  old  citizen  might  have  been 
seen  building  a  rail  fence.  Surely  that  ancient-looking 
farmer  knows  nothing,  the  passing  troops  would  readily 
think.  But  under  that  old  felt  hat  gleamed  a  watchful  eye 
and  listened  attentive  ears,  observing  and  hearing  everything 
worthy  of  remark.  As  soon  as  the  army  passed,  he  throws 
down  his  rails  and  slips  off  to  the  swamp,  mounts  a  fleet 
horse,  and  soon  the  numbers,  destination  and  condition  of  the 
Union  division  are  reported  at  the  nearest  rebel  headquar- 


PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS  387 

ters.  Sometimes  the  woods  on  both  sides  of  the  marching 
column  swarmed  with  prowling  guerillas;  sometimes  an 
affable  stranger  in  Union  colors  would  approach,  enter  into 
conversation  with  the  weary  straggler,  gain  all  the  informa- 
tion he  could,  and  then  shoot  down  his  informant.  They 
were  very  bold  in  their  operations.  One  day  an  orderly  was 
riding  with  important  despatches  far  within  the  Union  lines, 
when  he  was  startled  by  a  mounted  rebel,  who  made  his  ap- 
pearance from  the  woodside,  and  who,  presenting  a  pistol  at 
his  breast,  demanded  his  arms  and  despatches.  After,  as 
he  imagined,  cleaning  out  the  orderly,  the  rebel  invited  him 
to  come  along  and  accept  a  little  Southern  hospitality.  The 
scout  rode  a  little  forward,  and  as  he  did  so,  a  quiet  grin 
played  stealthfully  over  his  furious  countenance ;  a  little  pis- 
tol was  withdrawn  from  a  side  pocket,  the  cold  muzzle  applied 
to  the  rebel's  ear,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  rebel  was  dis- 
armed and  on  his  way  to  a  Northern  prison.  But  the  bold 
deeds  of  the  rebels  in  scouting  through  the  Union  lines  paled 
before  the  achievements  of  General  Sharpe  and  his  bureau  of 
military  information.  The  promotion  of  this  bureau  was 
recommended  by  General  Butterfield  to  General  Hooper,  in 
1863,  for  the  purpose  of  ascertaining  the  numbers,  positions, 
and  intentions  of  the  enemy.  To  this  bureau  was  gathered 
all  the  information  of  the  signal  corps  and  of  the  hundreds 
of  scouts  and  spies  who  traversed  the  rebel  army  and  coun- 
try. Trusty  and  intelligent  men  were  picked  from  the  rank 
and  file  of  the  army  and  placed  under  command  of  General 
Sharpe.  The  first  piece  of  work  undertaken  by  the  general 
was  to  obtain  a  full  roster  of  Lee's  army  as  it  lay  on  the 
Rappahannock,  the  numbers  and  titles  of  regiments  and  the 
names  of  the  corps,  division,  brigade,  regimental  and  com- 
pany commanders.  He  picked  out  General  Heath's  brigade 
of  A.  P.  Hill's  corps  as  the  first  one  to  operate  on,  and  by 
daringly  scouting  in  person  through  the  lines  of  that  brigade, 
conversing  with  its  pickets,  and  mingling  with  its  men,  he 
succeeded  in  obtaining  not  only  a  full  list  of  its  officers,  and 
an  accurate  detail  of  its  strength,  but  a  correct  description 


388  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS 

of  the  personal  appearance  and  habits  of  these  officers.  After 
mastering  Heath's  division  he  picked  out  an  intelligent  sol- 
dier whom  he  crammed  with  all  he  knew  himself  about  the 
division,  dressed  him  up  in  a  rebel  uniform,  and  sent  him 
into  another  division  of  Hill's  corps.  Of  course  the  man 
was  at  once  apprehended  and  taken  before  a  provost  marshal, 
but  made  such  a  plain  statement,  giving  the  names  of  the 
officers  of  the  regiments  in  Heath's  division,  to  which  he 
claimed  to  belong,  and  describing  their  personal  appearance 
and  habits  with  more  accuracy  than  reverence,  that  he  was 
dismissed,  with  a  reprimand  for  his  want  of  respect  for  his 
superior  officers,  and  ordered  to  report  back  at  once  to  his 
regiment.  After  looking  around  him  and  ascertaining  every- 
thing worth  noting  with  regard  to  the  command,  he  returned 
to  General  Sharpe;  and  thus  the  particulars,  as  ascertained 
by  every  new  scout,  facilitated  the  means  of  getting  more. 
At  length  Sharpe  had  a  roster  of  the  whole  of  Lee's  army, 
and  could  tell  its  strength  at  any  time  within  a  thousand  or 
so,  that  thousand  being  the  changing  mass  of  stragglers, 
furloughed,  and  sick,  to  whom  no  special  location  could 
be  assigned.  He  could  also  tell  the  name  of  every 
officer  in  that  army,  and  rebel  generals  of  divisions  might 
have  gone  to  him  for  information  concerning  their  own  sub- 
ordinates. The  great  usefulness  of  thus  possessing  the  pre- 
cise knowledge  of  the  strength  and  formation  of  the  enemy's 
forces  was  particularly  illustrated  at  Gettysburg,  where  the 
anxious  spirits  of  the  Union  commanders  were  relieved  by 
ascertaining  from  General  Sharpe  that  every  brigade  but  one 
of  Lee's  army  had  been  engaged  in  the  fight,  and  that  that 
general  had  no  reserve  with  which  to  follow  success  or  break 
defeat.  Not  least  among  the  resources  from  which  valuable 
information  was  obtained  were  the  contrabands,  whose  fidel- 
ity and  truthfulness  were  remarkable,  considering  their  want 
of  education,  and  consequent  lack  of  intelligence. 

"Amusing  and  interesting  instances  were  given  by  the 
speaker  of  the  hairbreadth  escapes  and  reckless  daring  of 
General  Sharpe's  scouts,  and  he  concluded  an  entertaining 


PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS  389 

discourse  by  paying  a  hearty  and  well-deserved  tribute  to 
their  patriotic  and  fearless  devotion,  to  which  was  greatly 
owing,  in  his  opinion,  the  winning  of  some  of  our  greatest 
victories,  and  the  fortunate  issue  of  the  war  itself." 

In  1868  the  church  was  completed,  a  building  "whose 
granite  walls  are  so  thick,  and  hard-wood  finish  so  substan- 
tial, that  passing  centuries  should  add  only  the  mellowness 
of  age."  Edward  would  not  allow  his  name  deposited  in 
the  corner-stone,  as  many  wished,  but  since  his  death  a 
bronze  tablet,  with  the  following  inscription,  has  been  placed 
in  the  vestibule. 

In  Memoriam, 
REV.  EDWARD  PAYSON  ROE, 

Minister  of  the 
First  Presbyterian  Ch.  of  the  Highlands. 

1866-1875. 

Author,  Pastor,  Friend, 

This  Building  Stands  the  Monument  of 

His  Earnest  Labors. 

Erected: 

1868. 

After  the  completion  of  the  church  the  old  parsonage  was  en- 
larged and  remodelled,  and  so  during  his  pastorate  thirty 
thousand  dollars  were  raised  and  expended  in  permanent 
improvements. 

While  living  at  Highland  Falls  Edward  continually  met 
the  officers  and  soldiers  of  West  Point.  A  soldier  at  one  time 
was  the  leader  of  his  choir,  in  which  was  also  a  quartet  from 
the  military  band.  He  writes  as  follows  of  a  mountain  camp 
at  West  Point  which  recalled  some  of  his  own  army  life : — 

"About  the  middle  of  August  the  Cadet  Corps  left  their 
airy  tent  villas  on  the  plain  at  West  Point,  and  took  up  their 
line  of  march  for  the  mountains.  The  pioneers  had  pre- 
ceded, and  the  road  was  practicable  not  only  for  infantry, 
but  for  carriages  and  stages  laden  with  fair  ladies  from  the 
hotels.  The  selected  camping  ground,  though  rough  indeed 
compared  with  the  velvet  lawns  of  West  Point,  was  admirably 


390  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS 

adapted  for  the  purpose.  It  was  a  broken,  uneven  field, 
on  the  property  of  T.  Cozzens,  Esq.  Here  in  the  midst  of 
the  wildest  mountain  scenery  the  young  soldiers  experienced, 
to  quite  an  extent,  the  realities  of  life  at  the  front,  minus  the 
element  of  danger.  But  the  mimicry  was  almost  perfect, 
and  so  suggestive  of  bygone  days  to  an  old  campaigner,  that 
I  cannot  refrain  from  indulging  in  a  brief  description. 

"A  wild,  romantic  drive  of  three  or  four  miles  through 
winding  valleys,  jagged  boulders  and  ledges,  and  overshadow- 
ing trees,  brought  us  to  the  edge  of  the  camp-ground.  Along 
the  road  ran  the  familiar  military  telegraph,  the  wire  now 
looped  up  to  a  convenient  tree,  now  sustained  by  the  slender 
portable  pole  that  bends  but  never  breaks  beneath  the  seem- 
ingly gossamer  strand.  Just  before  reaching  the  place  we 
struck  off  upon  one  of  those  temporary  roads  that  we  were 
ever  extemporizing  in  Virginia.  First  we  saw  the  white 
tents  through  the  foliage,  then  the  gleaming  of  a  sentry's 
musket,  the  cover  of  an  ambulance,  and  in  a  moment  more 
we  were  in  the  midst  of  the  encampment,  and  the  spell  was 
complete.  Through  the  strong  laws  of  association  the  old 
life  rushed  back  again,  and  what  often  seems  a  far-away 
dream  was  as  present  and  real  as  six  years  ago.  But  apart 
from  all  its  suggestiveness  to  those  who  dwelt  in  canvas  cities 
and  engaged  in  war's  realities,  the  scene  was  novel,  beauti- 
ful, and  deeply  interesting.  Here  in  the  midst  of  the  wooded 
highlands  was  a  fac-simile,  reproduced  in  miniature,  of  thou- 
sands of  encampments,  created  by  the  Rebellion,  in  the 
equally  wild  regions  of  the  Southern  States.  Here  were  our 
future  generals  learning  to  apply  practically  to  the  rough- 
ness of  nature  the  principles  and  tactics  that  might  seem 
comparatively  easy  on  paper  or  grassy  plain.  Sloping  down 
to  the  right,  the  encampment  bordered  on  Round  Pond,  a 
beautiful,  transparent  little  lake,  fringed  with  water-lilies, 
and  mirroring  back  the  rocks  and  foliage  of  its  rugged  banks. 
Through  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  Cozzens,  we  and  others  were 
soon  skimming  its  surface  in  an  airy  little  pleasure  boat.  A 
quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  left,  in  full  view,  with  a  descent  of 


PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND   FALLkf 

a  hundred  feet,  Long  Pond  glistened  in  the  bright  August 
sun.  All  around  rose  the  green  billowy  hills  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach.  We  had  hardly  noted  this  beautiful  com- 
mingling of  wood  and  water  before  the  stirring  notes  of  the 
drum  announced  skirmish  drill.  On  each  side  of  the  camp 
a  squad  marched  briskly  out,  and  was  soon  lost  in  the  forest. 
Soon  from  its  unseen  depths  there  came  a  shot,  then  another, 
then  several,  ending  in  a  rapid,  scattering  fire,  and  I  was 
back  again  on  the  skirmish  line  in  Virginia.  By  this  time 
the  other  detachment  had  reached  position,  and  were  'pop- 
ping' away  in  the  old  familiar  style.  The  hills  caught 
up  the  reports  and  echoed  them  down  again  multiplied  a 
hundredfold. 

'*  'Rock,  glen,  and  cavern  paid  them  back; 
To  many  mingled  sounds  at  once, 
The  awakened  mountain  gave  response;  ' 

and  these  regions  of  silvan  peace  and  solitude  were  dis- 
turbed as  they  never  had  been  since  the  days  when  Wash- 
ington made  West  Point  his  military  base,  and  Fort  Putnam 
was  the  chief  Highland  stronghold. 

"On  a  high  eminence  to  the  right  fluttered  a  signal  flag. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  last  time  that  my  special  attention 
was  called  to  that  very  significant  object.  It  was  on  a  bold 
ledge  of  the  Blue  Ridge  west  of  Culpeper,  Va.  We  were 
out  on  picket,  lounging  away  a  long  bright  October  after- 
noon, when  in  the  far  distance  a  white  flutter  like  that  of  a 
lady's  handkerchief  caught  the  wary  eye  of  the  colonel. 
Listlessness  vanished.  All  glasses  were  out,  but  practiced 
eyes  discovered,  not  a  token  of  ladies'  favor,  but  a  signal  of 
stern  war.  Lee  was  turning  our  right  flank,  and  then  fol- 
lowed the  famous  race  for  Centreville  heights. 

"But  the  sun  had  sunk  behind  a  blue  Highland,  and  the 
tap  of  the  drum  announcing  parade  recalled  from  reminis- 
cences of  the  past.  Creaking,  groaning,  crunching  up  the 
rough  road  came  stages,  carriages,  and  wagons  of  all  descrip- 
tions laden  with  fair  ladies,  who  in  bright  summer  costumes 


892  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND   FALLS 

seemed  airy  indeed,  but  from  the  looks  of  the  jaded  horses, 
were  anything  but  thistle-downs.  The  wild  mountain  camp 
was  soon  brilliant  with  Fifth  Avenue  toilets.  There  was  a 
general  'presenting  of  arms/  though  not  with  belligerent  as- 
pect, and  it  required  no  astrologer  to  predict  a  conjunction 
of  Mars  and  Venus.  Old  fogy  that  I  was,  recalling  the  days 
of  our  humdrum  soldiering  long  and  well  gone  by,  here  I 
was  in  the  midst  of  a  brilliant  active  campaign,  where  wounds 
were  given  and  received,  human  hearts  pierced  to  the  very 
circumference — perhaps  deeper  sometimes.  Yon  tall,  sol- 
dierly figure  of  the  commandant  is  a  secondary  one  here. 
Cupid  is  the  field  marshal  of  the  day.  With  the  near  ap- 
proach of  night  there  was  a  suspension  of  hostilities.  The 
fair  invaders  gradually  drew  off  their  attacking  forces,  and 
soon  were  lost  in  the  deeper  shadows  that  lay  at  the  moun- 
tain base.  The  next  morning  at  8  A.M.,  the  Cadet  Corps  re- 
turned to  their  encampment  on  the  plain  at  West  Point." 

My  brother's  attitude  toward  West  Point  is  clearly  shown 
in  the  following  vigorous  defence  of  the  National  Academy 
which  was  published  in  the  "Evangelist." 

"The  Military  Academy  here  has  lately  had  an  unenvi- 
able degree  of  notoriety  and  of  severe  criticism.  Some  go  so 
far  as  to  advise  the  breaking  up  of  the  entire  institution. 
No  one  so  thought  when  the  gallant  Reynolds  at  the  cost  of 
his  life  made  such  vigorous  battle  at  Gettysburg  as  to  check 
Lee,  and  secure  to  us  a  favorable  position  for  fighting  out  the 
decisive  conflict  of  the  war.  No  one  so  advised  when  a 
graduate  of  West  Point  announced  the  surrender  of  Vicks- 
burg;  when  another  marched  from  Atlanta  to  the  sea;  and 
another  swept  down  the  Shenandoah  Valley  like  a  whirl- 
wind. During  our  national  struggle  for  life,  trained  soldiers 
did  for  us  what  educated  lawyers,  physicians,  clergymen,  and 
statesmen  do  for  a  community  at  all  times.  Next  to  the 
courage  and  patriotism  of  the  people,  we  have  to  thank  the 
skill  of  West  Point,  that  we  are  One  Nation  to-day. 

"There  are  those  who  advocate  State  military  schools,  in 
other  words  that  we  have  an  army  officered  by  men  of  local 


PASTORATE   AT  HIGHLAND   FALLS  393 

interests  and  feelings.  We  shall  then  have  generals  to 
whom  a  single  State  is  more  than  the  whole  Union.  "We 
shall  have  patriots  educated  by  the  New  York  ring,  and 
the  champions  of  Tammany  Hall.  No,  the  soldiers  and  sail- 
ors of  the  United  States — as  they  are  in  the  service  of  the 
whole  country — should  be  educated  by  the  whole  country, 
and  upon  their  maps  State  boundaries  should  be  blotted  out. 

"Others  advise,  instead  of  this  National  Academy,  that  a 
course  of  military  instruction  be  added  to  our  colleges.  But 
in  this  way  students  would  only  pick  up  a  smattering  of  mili- 
tary science,  in  connection  with  a  dozen  other  sciences,  that 
would  be  quite  useless  in  time  of  war.  If  we  are  to  be  fully 
armed  against  attack,  we  need  men  thoroughly  educated  in 
military  science  by  the  Nation,  and  therefore  bound  by  every 
instinct  of  honor,  gratitude,  and  association  to  defend  her  in 
her  hour  of  peril. 

"Does  West  Point  now  furnish  such  an  education  and 
such  men  ?  Yes,  as  truly  as  it  ever  has  done ;  and  I  think  it 
could  be  shown  that  it  was  never  in  better  condition  than  it  is 
this  day.  But  what  does  the  recent  'outrage'  indicate,  and 
what  the  'persecution  of  Cadet  Smith  ?'  Living  near  the  in- 
stitution, and  yet  having  no  connection  with  it — nothing  to 
gain  or  lose — I  can  form  as  correct  and  unprejudiced  an  opin- 
ion as  those  who  base  theirs  upon  partial,  imperfect  reports 
of  isolated  incidents.  One  needs  but  to  visit  the  Point  daily, 
or  nightly,  in  order  to  see  that  perfect  discipline  is  main- 
tained. The  'outrage'  referred  to  was  the  expelling  of  three 
students  by  the  first  class.  This  action  no  one  defends. 
From  no  source  have  I  heard  it  so  severely  condemned  as  by 
the  officers  themselves.  If  it  could  have  been  foreseen  it 
would  have  been  prevented.  In  the  most  quiet  communi- 
ties there  are  sudden  outbreaks  of  passion  and  violence.  Is 
the  community  where  such  an  event  occurs,  and  which  goes 
on  its  orderly  way  the  remaining  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  days  of  the  year,  to  be  called  lawless?'  Is  the  hasty, 
passionate  act  of  a  few,  wrong  as  it  may  be,  to  give  character 
to  all  ?  Moreover,  in  judging  acts  we  should  consider  the  mo- 


394  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS 

tives.  In  this  case  they  throw  much  light  on  the  action. 
The  sentiment  of  the  corps  is  one  of  intense  disgust  at  the 
vice  of  lying.  A  cadet  cannot  commit  a  more  serious  offence 
against  the  received  code  of  honor.  The  parties  expelled 
were  believed  to  have  been  guilty  of  this  offence,  and  their 
dismissal  was  a  sudden  and  lawless  expression  of  the  general 
anger  and  disgust.  The  action  was  contrary  to  the  character 
of  a  soldier — the  man  of  discipline  and  iron  rules.  But  was 
it  contrary  to  the  character  of  frank,  impulsive  youth  ?  Are 
those  who  have  scarcely  reached  their  majority  to  be  judged 
in  the  same  light  as  cool,  gray-bearded  veterans?  I  do  not 
see  how  the  officers  are  to  blame  because  they  could  not 
foresee  the  trouble.  Is  a  careful  housekeeper  'reckless'  be- 
cause a  kerosene  lamp  explodes  ?  Do  you  say  she  ought  to  use 
non-explosive  material?  Then  you  must  send  sexagenarians 
to  West  Point  instead  of  boys. 

"The  same  principle  applies  to  the  'persecution.'  Criti- 
cal editors,  and  advanced  politicians  like  Ben.  Butler,  require 
of  a  class  of  young  men  gathered  from  every  part  of  the  land 
what  they  could  scarcely  obtain  from  the  reformers  of  New 
England  as  a  body.  There  is  no  use  in  ignoring  the  general 
and  widespread  prejudice  of  race.  Many  who  grieve  most  at 
the  wrongs  of  the  colored  people  still  feel  that  instinctive 
drawing  back  from  social  contact.  Do  those  that  condemn 
the  young  men  most  severely  introduce  the  colored  element 
largely  into  their  own  social  circles?  If  not,  then  they 
should  not  be  so  ready  to  throw  stones.  Colored  cadets  sent 
to  West  Point  must  be  treated  in  precisely  the  same  way  as 
the  others.  The  law  forms  them  all  into  a  social  community 
with  equal  rights.  Is  it  to  be  expected  that  the  utmost  cor- 
diality should  be  shown  by  hot-blooded,  unformed,  and  often 
unwise  youth,  having  in  somewhat  intenser  form  the  same 
prejudices  with  those  who  condemn  them  ?  They  have  prob- 
ably acted  in  the  matter  very  much  as  the  sons  of  the  editors 
and  ministers  and  reformers,  who  have  been  so  severe  upon 
them,  would  have  acted  in  like  circumstances.  That  happy 
day  when  the  brotherhood  of  the  race  shall  be  honestly  and 


PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS  395 

lovingly  acknowledged  I  fear  is  yet  far  distant,  nor  is  it  to  be 
hastened  by  attempting  to  force  a  social  intercourse  against 
which  there  may  be  a  natural  aversion.  As  far  as  the  offi- 
cers are  concerned,  I  believe  that  they  have  tried  to  treat 
young  Smith  with  strict  impartiality,  and  to  give  him  every 
opportunity.  The  affairs  of  the  Academy  seem  to  go  for- 
ward like  clock-work.  Considering  the  sore  and  excited  state 
of  mind  among  the  cadets,  their  order  and  subordination  have 
been  remarkable.  Of  course  two  hundred  and  fifty  young 
men  of  the  widest  difference  of  character,  brought  together 
from  every  diversity  of  life,  could  not  be  expected  to  act  like 
nicely  adjusted  machines;  but  with  the  exception  of  those 
two  affairs,  what  has  there  been  to  justify  the  charges  of 
'lawlessness'  or  'looseness  of  discipline?' 

"In  view  of  its  services,  it  is  strange  that  anyone  should 
speak  seriously  of  breaking  up  West  Point.  It  has  paid 
back  to  the  nation  all  that  has  been  spent  upon  it  a  hundred- 
fold. 

"P.  S. — May  I  add  a  word  in  regard  to  the  commandant 
of  this  post,  who  is  the  officer  who  has  special  care  of  the  stu- 
tlents  in  the  Academy.  Political  attacks  do  not  spare  any- 
body, and  during  the  recent  troubles  slurs  have  been  thrown 
out  even  against  General  Upton.  It  has  been  intimated  that 
fear  of  the  authorities  at  Washington  has  made  him  over- 
lenient  and  slack  in  his  discipline  toward  the  first  class,  as 
President  Grant  and  others  high  in  power  have  sons  in  this 
class. 

"These  disparaging  remarks  are  made  either  by  those  who 
know  nothing  of  General  Upton's  character  and  antecedents, 
or  else  they  are  the  grossest  slanders.  Search  the  army 
through  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  find  a  man  more  utterly 
devoid  of  the  spirit  that  truckles  to  power.  Nature  never 
put  into  his  composition  the  least  spice  of  obsequiousness,  and 
one  has  only  to  look  into  the  man's  face  and  hear  him  speak 
five  words  in  order  to  know  it.  He  belongs  to  that  class  of 
men  who  pay  more  attention  to  the  poor  and  humble  than 
to  the  high  and  haughty. 


396  PASTORATE  AT  HIGHLAND  FALLS 

"I  think  my  testimony  in  this  matter  is  worth  something. 
During  nearly  four  years  of  life  in  the  army,  and  five  years' 
residence  within  one  mile  of  the  West  Point  Academy,  I 
have  met  with  a  great  many  officers  of  the  volunteer  and 
regular  service,  and  never  has  a  man  more  thoroughly  im- 
pressed me  with  the  fact  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  and  con- 
scientious in  duty  even  to  the  slightest  particular,  than  Gen- 
eral Upton.  Moreover,  he  is  an  enthusiast  in  his  profession, 
and  therefore  successful.  He  is  the  author  of  the  Infantry 
Tactics  now  in  use  in  our  army,  and  said  to  be  the  finest  in 
the  world.  From  frequent  intercourse  with  the  Point,  I 
know  that  he  maintains  a  daily  discipline  among  the  cadets 
as  nearly  perfect  as  anything  of  the  kind  can  be.  It  is  my 
belief  that  investigation  of  the  recent  troubles  will  show  that 
the  institution  was  never  better  officered  than  at  present. 

"Moreover,  General  Upton  is  a  sincere  Christian — one 
that  lives  up  to  his  profession.  His  influence  in  this  re- 
spect is  most  marked  and  happy  upon  the  corps.  We  can- 
not overestimate  the  importance  of  the  fact  that  the  officer 
directly  in  charge  of  the  young  men  at  the  Point  is  guided 
in  all  respects,  not  only  by  strict  military  honor  and  duty, 
but  by  the  highest  Christian  principle." 


RESIGNATION   FROM    THE    MINISTRY  397 


CHAPTEK    VIII 

KESIGNATION   FROM   THE   MINISTRY 

WHILE  at  Highland  Falls  Edward  wrote  his  first 
novel,  "Barriers  Burned  Away."  He  had  told 
of  his  plan  for  a  story  to  be  based  upon  the 
scenes  he  had  witnessed  among  the  ruins  of  the  great  Chicago 
fire,  and  when  I  received  a  letter  from  him  the  following 
winter  asking  me  to  make  him  a  visit  as  soon  as  possible,  I 
suspected  that  he  wanted  my  opinion  of  what  he  had  written. 
And  I  was  not  disappointed,  for  on  the  evening  after  my 
arrival  he  read  to  me  a  number  of  chapters,  and  we  talked 
over  his  plan  for  the  story  until  after  midnight,  he  going  over 
the  outlines  that  he  then  had  in  mind,  though  he  afterward 
made  some  changes.  The  next  day  he  called  upon  Dr. 
Field,  editor  of  the  "Evangelist,"  and  owing  to  his  kind 
encouragement  the  visit  was  repeated,  the  result  being  that 
the  story  was  finally  accepted  for  serial  publication  in  that 
paper. 

From  that  time  on,  my  brother  read  to  me  every  one  of 
his  stories  in  manuscript,  and  I  enjoyed  them  the  more  from 
the  fact  that  in  every  case  I  recognized  the  originals  from 
which  he  had  drawn  his  scenes  and  characters,  idealized  as 
they  were. 

In  1874  his  health  had  become  so  much  impaired  by 
overwork  that  his  physician  strongly  urged  him  to  give  up 
either  writing  or  preaching.  After  giving  the  matter  seri- 
ous consideration  and  consulting  with  friends  whose  advice 
he  valued,  my  brother  reluctantly  decided  to  retire  from  the 
ministry.  How  his  people  parted  with  him  is  told  in  a  let- 


398  RESIGNATION   FROM    THE   MINISTRY 

ter  to  the  "Evangelist,"  whose  readers  had  followed  with 
so  much  interest  and  substantial  aid  my  brother's  efforts  to 
build  a  new  church. 

"I  have  been  very  much  surprised.  Last  Sabbath,  the 
7th  of  March,  was  my  birthday.  On  the  6th  I  sat  quietly 
in  my  study  until  the  sun  was  behind  the  mountains,  and  then 
was  sent  out  of  the  house  on  false  pretences.  The  young 
people  of  the  church  were  getting  up  an  entertainment,  and 
suddenly  took  it  into  their  heads  that  they  needed  my  assis- 
tance. There  seemed  many  delays,  but  we  at  last  got 
through.  Then  I  received  a  startling  message  that  a  neigh- 
bor wished  to  see  me  immediately.  Surmising  sudden  ill- 
ness or  trouble,  I  did  not  go  home,  but  started  off  in  great 
haste.  I  found  not  sickness,  but  mystery,  at  this  neigh- 
bor's, which  I  could  not  fathom.  My  friend  and  his  wife 
were  unusually  entertaining  and  I  could  not  get  away, 
though  I  knew  I  was  keeping  tea  waiting  at  home.  Finally 
there  came  another  mysterious  message — 'Two  gentlemen 
and  two  ladies  wished  to  see  me  at  the  parsonage.'  'Oh,  I 
understand  now,'  I  thought.  'It  is  a  wedding;  but  they  are 
managing  it  rather  oddly.' 

"But  imagine  my  surprise  when  I  opened  the  door  and 
found  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  people  present.  Well, 
to  be  brief,  they  just  overwhelmed  us  with  kindness.  They 
gave  us  fine  music,  and  provided  a  supper  for  five  hundred 
instead  of  one  hundred  and  fifty. 

"Mrs.  Koe  thought  that  she  was  in  the  secret;  but  they 
surprised  her  also  by  presenting,  with  cordial  words,  a  hand- 
some sum  of  money  at  the  close  of  the  evening. 

"My  resignation  has  not  yet  been  accepted,  but  we  ex- 
pect that  the  pastoral  relation  will  be  dissolved  at  the  next 
meeting  of  Presbytery.  As  soon  as  spring  comes  in  reality, 
and  the  embargo  of  ice  and  snow  is  over,  W6  must  be  upon 
the  wing;  and  this  spontaneous  and  hearty  proof  of  the 
friendliness  of  my  people  was  very  grateful  to  me.  During 
the  nine  years  of  my  pastorate  they  have  been  called  to  pass 
through  many  trying  and  difficult  times.  They  have  often 


RESIGNATION   FROM    THE   MINISTRY  399 

been  asked  to  give  beyond  their,  means,  and  have  often  done 
so.  With  the  very  limited  amount  of  wealth  in  the  congre- 
gation, even  the  generous  aid  received  from  abroad  and  from 
visitors  could  not  prevent  the  effort  to  erect  a  new  church 
and  parsonage  from  being  an  exceedingly  heavy  burden,  in- 
volving perplexing  and  vexatious  questions.  When  I  re- 
member how  patiently  they  have  borne  these  burdens,  how 
hard  many  have  worked,  and  how  many  instances  of  genuine 
self-denial  there  have  been,  I  feel  that  too  much  cannot  be 
said  in  their  praise.  It  is  my  hope  and  my  belief  that  they 
will  deal  as  kindly  with  my  successor  as  they  have  with  me." 

Dr.  Edgar  A.  Mearns  of  the  United  States  army  was  one 
of  my  brother's  devoted  friends  .who  knew  him  intimately 
during  the  years  of  his  ministry.  In  1888,  from  Fort  Snell- 
ing,  Minn.,  he  writes  as  follows : 

"The  sad  news  of  the  death  of  Rev.  E.  P.  Roe,  at  Corn- 
wall-on-Hudson,  reached  me  to-day,  and  filled  my  heart  with 
sadness.  During  the  long  years  of  my  sojourn  upon  the 
western  frontier,  I  have  looked  forward  with  unspeakable 
pleasure  to  the  time  when  I  could  grasp  the  hand  of  this 
true  friend,  and  walk  and  talk  with  him,  and  enjoy  once  more 
the  society  of  his  dear  family.  I  had  planned  a  leave  of  ab- 
sence from  my  station  in  the  desert-wilderness  of  Arizona  for 
last  spring,  in  response  to  his  urgent  invitations;  but  other 
duties  awaited  me,  and  I  was  not  permitted  to  realize  the 
fulfilment  of  this  ardent  desire.  We  were  to  walk  through 
the  woodlands,  drive  over  the  mountains,  and  sail  on  our 
native  Hudson.  I  saw  in  mental  vision  the  very  rock  under 
which  we  used  to  poke  at  the  woodchucks  with  a  stick,  and 
on  which  we  gathered  the  walking  fern,  and  seemed  once 
more  to  hear  him  discoursing  of  small  fruits  in  his  delightful 
garden,  or  reading  to  the  family  circle  from  his  latest  manu- 
scripts. In  the  West  many  hearts  have  been  pierced  by  this 
sorrow,  for  he  made  friends  wherever  he  went. 

"To  write  a  word  of  the  lost  friend,  who  has  been  a  very 
pillar  of  support  in  times  of  struggle  or  affliction,  will  per-, 
haps  relieve  a  pain  at  the  heart  which  is  hard  to  bear.  It 


400  RESIGNATION   FROM    THE   MINISTRY 

is  not  as  an  author,  justly  celebrated,  that  I  must  speak  of 
him,  but  of  the  private  life  of  one  who  combined  every  at- 
tribute of  mind  and  heart  to  endear  him  to  his  friends.  I 
have  known  him  as  a  pastor,  laboring  assiduously  among  the 
members  of  his  flock,  dispensing  liberal  charity  among  the 
poor,  and  lightening  everybody's  burden.  He  was  a  rock 
to  lay  hold  of  when  other  friendships  were  borne  away  by 
the  cruel  winds  of  adversity.  Then  it  was  that  the  genial 
warmth  of  his  smile,  the  kindly  hand-pressure,  and  the  cheer- 
ful encouragement  of  his  voice  fettered  sore  hearts  to  his. 

"I  have  seen  him  as  a  hero,  struggling  in  the  water  and 
broken  ice,  bearing  in  his  arms  the  bodies  of  children  for 
whom  he  risked  his  life.  He  had  heard  a  cry  for  help,  and 
that  alone  was  enough  to  enlist  the  sympathy  and  secure  the 
highest  sacrifice  of  which  our  nature  is  capable.  Then,  pay- 
ing no  heed  to  personal  sickness  and  injury,  he  strove  to 
comfort  the  bereaved  hearts  of  mothers,  whose  boys  were 
drowned,  perhaps  by  exposure  laying  the  seeds  of  the  disease 
which  recently  caused  his  death. 

"His  zealous  devotion  to  his  calling,  together  with  ex- 
posure to  various  hardships  encountered  on  frequent  lectur- 
ing tours  made  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  funds  for  the 
erection  of  a  suitable  church  for  his  congregation,  made  such 
inroads  into  his  naturally  vigorous  constitution  that,  having 
accomplished  his  task,  he  was  compelled  to  resign  his  charge 
as  pastor,  after  about  nine  years  of  faithful  service.  The 
beautiful  stone  Presbyterian  church  at  Highland  Falls  is  a 
monument  to  his  untiring  efforts." 


FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY   WORK  401 


CHAPTEK     IX 

FRUIT    CULTURE   AND   LITERARY   WORK 

AFTER  my  brother's  resignation  from  the  ministry,  he 
bought  a  plain,  old-fashioned  house  with  considerable 
ground    about    it,  at    Cornwall-on-the-Hudson,    two 
miles  distant  from  his  childhood  home,  and  went  there  to  live. 

It  soon  became  evident,  however,  that  Edward  could  not 
depend  upon  his  literary  work  alone  for  the  support  of  his 
growing  family.  He  had  for  some  years  taken  much  inter- 
est in  the  cultivation  of  small  fruits,  and  after  the  removal 
to  Cornwall  he  carried  on  this  work  upon  a  larger  scale,  find- 
ing it  profitable  as  well  as  interesting. 

I  remember  the  piles  of  letters  that  came  to  him  each 
day  for  several  years  containing  orders  for  plants.  Al- 
though in  general  not  a  methodical  man,  yet  the  pains- 
taking care  which  he  was  known  to  exercise  in  keeping  the 
many  varieties  distinct  enabled  his  customers  to  rely  im- 
plicitly upon  his  statements  as  to  the  kind  and  value  of  the 
plants  ordered.  He  often  employed  many  men  and  boys  on 
his  place,  but  always  engaged  them  with  the  understanding 
that  if  through  carelessness  the  varieties  of  plants  became 
mixed  the  offender  was  to  be  dismissed  at  once,  and  a  few 
examples  soon  taught  his  assistants  that  he  meant  what  he 
said.  But  when  they  were  faithful  to  their  duty,  they  in- 
variably found  him  considerate  and  kind. 

The  strawberry  was  Edward's  favorite  among  the  small 
fruits,  and  he  made  many  experiments  with  new  varieties. 
When  the  vines  were  bearing,  sometimes  as  many  as  forty 
bushels  of  berries  were  picked  in  a  single  day.  Some  of 


402  FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY   WORK 

them  were  of  mammoth  size.  I  remember,  on  one  occasion, 
we  took  from  a  basket  four  berries  which  filled  to  the  brim  a 
large  coffee-cup,  and  notwithstanding  their  enormous  size  they 
were  solid  and  sweet.  During  this  period  he  wrote  the  ar- 
ticles on  "Success  with  Small  Fruits,"  published  in  "Scrib- 
ner's  Magazine." 

Currants  came  next  in  his  favor.  Writing  of  them  he 
says:  "Let  me  recommend  the  currant  cure.  If  any  one  is 
languid,  depressed  in  spirits,  inclined  to  headaches,  and  gen- 
erally 'out  of  sorts,'  let  him  finish  his  breakfast  daily  for  a 
month  with  a  dish  of  freshly  picked  currants.  He  will  soon 
doubt  his  own  identity,  and  may  even  think  that  he  is  becom- 
ing a  good  man.  In  brief,  the  truth  of  the  ancient  pun  will 
be  verified,  'That  the  power  to  live  a  good  life  depends 
largely  upon  the  liver.'  Let  it  be  taught  at  the  theological 
seminaries  that  the  currant  is  a  means  of  grace.  It  is  a 
corrective,  and  that  is  what  average  humanity  most  needs." 

Mr.  Charles  Downing  of  Newburgh,  a  noted  horticultur- 
ist, was  Edward's  valued  friend.  He  was  especially  success- 
ful in  fruit  culture,  and  it  was  his  custom  to  forward  to  my 
brother  for  trial  novelties  sent  to  him  from  every  part  of  the 
country.  Then  on  pleasant  summer  afternoons  the  old  gen- 
tleman would  visit  my  brother,  and,  side  by  side,  they  would 
compare  the  much-heralded  strangers  with  the  standard  varie- 
ties. Often  forty  or  fifty  kinds  were  bearing  under  precisely 
the  same  conditions.  The  two  lovers  of  Nature  thus  gained 
knowledge  of  many  of  her  secrets. 

Edward's  coming  to  live  in  Cornwall  was  a  source  of  great 
pleasure  to  our  father,  who,  although  then  past  eighty  years 
of  age,  was  still  vigorous,  and  as  full  of  enthusiasm  for  his 
garden  as  when  he  first  moved  to  the  country.  Often  on 
summer  mornings,  before  the  sun  was  fairly  above  the  east- 
ern mountains,  father  would  drive  over  to  my  brother's,  tak- 
ing in  his  phaeton  a  basket  of  fruit  or  vegetables  that  he  be- 
lieved were  earlier  than  any  in  my  brother's  garden.  These 
he  would  leave  at  the  front  door  for  Edward  to  discover  when 
he  came  downstairs,  and  return  in  time  for  our  breakfast. 


FRUIT  CULTURE  AND   LITERARY    WORK  403 

He  would  laugh  with  the  keenest  enjoyment  if  he  found  that 
his  beans  or  sweet  corn  had  ripened  first.  Frequently  he 
would  remain  at  his  son's  house  for  breakfast,  and  afterward 
the  two  would  wander  together  over  the  grounds  while  the 
dew  was  still  fresh  upon  the  fruit  and  flowers.  Many  of  the 
rosebushes  and  shrubs  had  been  transplanted  from  the  old 
garden,  and  it  delighted  my  father  and  brother  to  see  that 
they  were  flourishing  and  blooming  in  their  new  environment. 

When  Edward  first  moved  to  Cornwall  several  newspapers 
severely  criticised  him  for  giving  up  the  ministry  to  write 
novels.  I  was  sitting  with  him  alone  in  his  library  one  day 
when  such  a  criticism  came  to  him  through  the  mail.  After 
reading  it  he  handed  it  quietly  to  me,  went  to  his  desk  and 
took  down  a  bundle  of  letters,  saying :  "These  are  mostly  from 
young  men,  not  one  of  whom  I  know,  who  have  written  to 
me  of  the  benefit  received  from  my  books."  He  then  read 
to  me  some  of  those  touching  letters  of  confession  and  thanks 
for  his  inspiring  help  to  a  better  life. 

When  he  finished  reading  the  letters  he  said:  "I  know 
my  books  are  read  by  thousands;  my  voice  reached  at  most 
but  a  few  hundred.  I  believe  many  who  would  never  think 
of  writing  to  me  such  letters  as  these  are  also  helped.  Do 
you  think  I  have  made  a  mistake  ?  My  object  in  writing,  as 
in  preaching,  is  to  do  good,  and  the  question  is,  Which  can  I 
do  best  ?  I  think  with  the  pen,  and  I  shall  go  on  writing,  no 
matter  what  the  critics  say." 

Still  his  name  was  retained  on  the  rolls  of  the  North 
River  Presbytery,  and  he  was  always  ready  to  preach  when 
needed,  especially  in  neglected  districts.  For  a  long  time 
after  father's  death  he  kept  up  the  little  Sunday-school  that 
had  been  father's  special  care. 

His  home  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  river  and  moun- 
tains, and  he  would  watch  with  great  delight  the  grand  thun- 
derstorms that  so  often  sweep  over  the  Highlands.  I  take 
this  description  of  a  storm  from  one  of  his  letters : — 

"This  moist  summer  has  given  a  rich,  dark  luxuriance 
to  the  foliage,  that  contrasts  favorably  to  the  parched,  with- 


404  FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY    WORK 

ered  aspect  of  everything  last  year.  The  oldest  inhabitants 
(that  class  so  sorely  perplexed  in  this  age  of  innovations) 
were  astonished  to  learn  that  a  sharp  frost  occurred  in  the 
mountains  back  of  us,  just  before  the  Fourth.  Even  the  sea- 
sons have  caught  the  infection  of  the  times,  and  no  longer 
continue  their  usual  jog-trot  through  the  year,  but  indulge 
in  the  strangest  extremes  and  freaks. 

"A  person  living  in  the  city  can  have  little  idea  of  thun- 
derstorms as  they  occur  in  this  mountain  region.  The  hills 
about  us,  while  they  attract  the  electrified  clouds,  are  also  our 
protection,  for,  abounding  in  iron  ore,  they  become  huge 
lightning-rods  above  the  houses  and  hamlets  at  their  bases. 
But  little  recks  old  Bear  Mountain,  or  Cro'  Nest,  Jove's  most 
fiery  bolts.  The  rocky  splinters  fly  for  a  moment ;  some  oak 
or  chestnut  comes  quivering  down;  but  soon  the  mosses,  like 
kindly  charity,  have  covered  up  the  wounded  rock,  and  three 
or  four  saplings  have  grown  from  the  roots  of  the  blighted 
tree. 

"But  the  storm  we  witness  from  our  safe  and  sheltered 
homes  is  often  grand  beyond  description.  At  first,  in  the 
distant  west,  a  cloud  rises  so  dark  that  you  can  scarcely  dis- 
tinguish it  from  a  blue  highland.  But  a  low  muttering  of 
thunder  vibrates  through  the  sultry  air,  and  we  know  what 
is  coming.  Soon  the  afternoon  sun  is  shaded,  and  a  deep, 
unnatural  twilight  settles  upon  the  landscape  like  the  shadow 
of  a  great  sorrow  on  a  face  that  was  smiling  a  moment  be- 
fore. The  thunder  grows  heavier,  like  the  rumble  and  roar 
of  an  approaching  battle.  The  western  arch  of  the  sky  is 
black  as  night.  The  eastern  arch  is  bright  and  sunny,  and 
as  you  glance  from  side  to  side,  you  cannot  but  think  of  those 
who,  comparatively  innocent  and  happy  at  first,  cloud  their 
lives  in  maturer  years  with  evil  and  crime,  and  darken  the 
future  with  the  wrath  of  heaven.  At  last  the  vanguard  of 
black  flying  clouds,  disjointed,  jagged,  the  rough  skirmish 
line  of  the  advancing  storm,  is  over  our  heads.  Back  of 
these,  in  one  dark,  solid  mass,  comes  the  tempest.  For  a 
moment  there  is  a  sort  of  hush  of  expectation,  like  the  lull 


FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY  WORK  405 

before  a  battle.  The  trees  on  the  distant  brow  of  a  moun- 
tain are  seen  to  toss  and  writhe,  but  as  yet  no  sound  is  heard. 
Soon  there  is  a  faint,  far-away  rushing  noise,  the  low,  deep 
prelude  of  nature's  grand  musical  discord  that  is  to  follow. 
There  is  a  vivid  flash,  and  a  startling  peal  of  thunder  breaks 
forth  overhead,  and  rolls  away  with  countless  reverberations 
among  the  hills.  In  the  meantime  the  distant  rushing  sound 
has  developed  into  an  increasing  roar.  Half-way  down  the 
mountain-side  the  trees  are  swaying  wildly.  At  the  base 
stands  a  grove,  motionless,  expectant,  like  a  square  of  infan- 
try awaiting  an  impetuous  cavalry  charge.  In  a  moment  it 
comes.  At  first  the  shock  seems  terrible.  Every  branch 
bends  low.  Dead  limbs  rattle  down  like  hail.  Leaves,  torn 
away,  fly  wildly  through  the  air.  But  the  sturdy  trunks 
stand  their  ground,  and  the  baffled  tempest  passes  on.  Min- 
gling with  the  rush  of  the  wind  and  reverberations  of  thun- 
der, a  new  sound,  a  new  part  now  enters  into  the  grand  har- 
mony. At  first  it  is  a  low,  continuous  roar,  caused  by  the 
falling  rain  upon  the  leaves.  It  grows  louder  fast,  like  the 
pattering  feet  of  a  coming  multitude.  Then  the  great  drops 
fall  around,  yards  apart,  like  scattering  shots.  They  grow 
closer,  and  soon  a  streaming  torrent  drives  you  to  shelter. 
The  next  heavy  peal  is  to  the  eastward,  showing  that  the  bulk 
of  the  shower  is  past.  The  roar  of  the  thunder  just  dies  away 
down  the  river.  The  thickly  falling  rain  contracts  your  vis- 
ion to  a  narrow  circle,  out  of  which  Cozzens's  great  hotel  and 
Bear  Mountain  loom  vaguely.  The  flowers  and  shrubbery 
bend  to  the  moisture  with  the  air  of  one  who  stands  and 
takes  it.  The  steady,  continuous  plash  upon  the  roof  slack- 
ens into  a  quiet  pattering  of  raindrops.  The  west  is  light- 
ening up;  by  and  by  a  long  line  of  blue  is  seen  above  Cro* 
Nest.  The  setting  sun  shines  out  upon  a  purified  and  more 
beautiful  landscape.  Every  leaf,  every  spear  of  grass  is 
brilliant  with  gems  of  moisture.  The  cloud  scenery  has  all 
changed.  The  sun  is  setting  in  unclouded  splendor.  Not 
the  west  but  the  east  is  now  black  with  storm ;  but  the  rain- 
bow, emblem  of  hope  and  God's  mercy,  spans  its  blackness. 


406  FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY  WORK 

and  in  the  skies  we  again  have  suggested  to  us  a  life,  once 
clouded  and  darkly  threatened  by  evil,  but  now,  through 
penitence  and  reform,  ending  in  peace  and  beauty,  God  span- 
ning the  wrong  of  the  past  with  His  rich  and  varied  promises 
of  forgiveness.  At  last  the  skies  are  clear  again.  Along 
the  eastern  horizon  the  retreating  storm  sends  up  occasional 
flashes,  that  seem  like  regretful  thoughts  of  the  past.  Then 
night  comes  on,  cool,  moonlit,  breathless.  Not  a  leaf  stirs 
where  an  hour  before  the  sturdiest  limbs  bent  to  the  earth. 
This  must  be  nature's  commentary  on  the  'peace  that  passeth 
all  understanding.'  " 

At  this  period  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott  made  his  permanent 
home  in  Cornwall,  going  almost  daily  to  the  city  to  attend 
to  his  duties  as  editor  of  the  "Christian  Union." 

In  a  short  article  written  for  that  paper  my  brother  de- 
scribes a  drive  taken  over  the  mountains  when  Dr.  Abbott 
was  entertaining  the  Brooklyn  Association  of  Congregational 
Ministers. 

"Pleasures  long  planned  and  anticipated  often  prove  'flat, 
stale,  and  unprofitable'  when  at  last  they  disappoint  us  in 
their  sorry  contrast  with  our  hopes,  while  on  the  other  hand 
good  times  that  come  unexpectedly  are  enjoyed  all  the  more 
keenly  because  such  agreeable  surprises.  The  other  morn- 
ing the  editor  of  the  'Christian  Union,'  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott, 
who  is  a  near  neighbor  and  a  nearer  friend,  appeared  at  my 
door  with  the  announcement  that  he  was  to  meet  on  the 
morrow  at  the  West  Point  landing  the  New  York  and  Brook- 
lyn Association  of  Congregational  Ministers,  at  the  same  time 
giving  me  an  invitation  to  accompany  him,  which  I  accepted 
on  the  spot.  The  morning  of  the  27th  found  us  leading  an 
array  of  carriages  up  the  Cornwall  slope  of  the  mountain, 
for  it  had  been  arranged  that  the  gentlemen  whom  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Abbott  were  to  entertain  for  the  day  should  land  at 
West  Point  and  enjoy  one  of  the  finest  drives  in  America 
across  the  Highlands,  instead  of  a  prosaic  ride  down  from 
Newburgh  through  the  brickyards.  The  Albany  day  boat 
was  on  time,  and  so  were  we,  and  there  stepped  on  shore  a 


FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY  WORK  407 

venerable  body  of  divinity,  or  rather  several  bodies,  led  by 
Rev.  Henry  Ward  Beecher  and  his  brother,  Dr.  Edward 
Beecher.  A  shower  the  previous  evening  had  left  less  dust 
than  could  be  found  in  the  immaculate  parlor  of  a  spinster, 
and  the  heated  air  had  been  cooled  to  such  a  nicety  of  ad- 
justment that  we  grew  warm  in  the  praise  of  its  balminess. 
With  much  good-natured  badinage  and  repartee  we  climbed 
the  West  Point  hill  and  took  the  outer  avenue  that  skirts 
the  river  edge  of  the  plain  and  campus.  'The  brethren'  gazed 
with  mild  curiosity  at  'Flirtation  Walk'  where  it  led  demurely 
and  openly  from  the  main  road,  but  soon  lost  itself  in  wind- 
ing intricacies,  mysterious  copsewood,  and  the  still  deeper 
mysteries  suggested  by  the  imagination.  Let  no  grave  reader 
lift  a  disdainful  nose.  Perhaps  this  same  secluded  path  of 
frivolous  name  has  had  a  greater  influence  on  human  destiny 
than  himself. 

"The  trim,  plain  and  trimmer  cadets  were  soon  left  far 
behind,  and  nature  began  to  wear  the  aspect  it  had  shown 
to  our  great-grandfathers  when  children.  Through  the  skil- 
ful engineering  of  Mr.  Charles  Caldwell,  a  most  excellent 
road  of  easy  grades  winds  across  Cro'  Nest  and  Butter  Hill 
(the  latter  was  rechristened  'Storm  King5  some  years  since 
by  the  poet,  N.  P.  Willis).  As  our  path  zigzagged  up  the 
shaggy  sides  of  Cro'  Nest,  wider  and  superber  views  opened 
out  before  us,  until  at  last  West  Point  with  its  gleaming 
tents,  the  winding  river  with  its  silver  sheen,  and  the  village 
of  Cold  Spring  lay  at  our  feet,  while  to  the  southwest  a  mul- 
titude of  green  highlands  lifted  their  crests  like  a  confusion 
of  emerald  waves.  A  few  moments  more  brought  us  to  the 
summit,  and  although  we  were  but  a  thousand  feet  nearer 
(  heaven  than  when  we  started,  the  air  was  so  pure  and  sweet 
and  the  sky  so  blue  that  it  might  well  seem  to  those  who  had 
so  recently  left  the  stifling  city  that  they  had  climbed  half- 
way thither.  A  half  an  hour's  ride  brought  us  to  the  north- 
ern slope  of  the  mountains.  Here  we  made  a  halt  at  Mr. 
Cobb's  'School  on  the  Heights,'  and  were  entertained  with 
unlimited  cherries,  which,  by  some  strange  providence,  had 


408  FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY  WORK 

escaped  the  boys,  and  also  by  some  exceedingly  interesting 
gymnastic  exercises  that  were  performed  to  the  rhythm  of 
gay  music.  There  are  probably  few  finer  views  on  the  river 
than  that  from  Mr.  Cobb's  piazza  and  grounds,  and  thus  his 
pupils  are  under  the  best  of  influences  out  of  doors  as  well  as 
within.  As  Mr.  Abbott's  guests  looked  down  upon  the  broad 
expanse  of  Newburgh  Bay,  the  city  itself,  the  picturesque 
village  of  Cornwall,  and  the  great  swale  of  rich  diversified 
country  that  lay  between  our  lofty  eyrie  and  the  dim  and 
distant  Shawangunk  Mountains  that  blended  with  the  clouds, 
they  must  have  felt  indebted  to  their  host  for  one  of  the 
richest  pleasures  of  their  lives. 

"At  last  Mr.  Beecher  said  that  he  carried  an  internal 
clock  which  plainly  intimated  that  it  was  time  for  dinner. 
The  descensus  was  easy,  but  Mrs.  Abbott's  warm  welcome 
and  hot  dinner  suggested  an  avernus  only  by  blissful  con- 
trast. The  fun,  wit  and  jollity  of  the  remainder  of  the 
evening  can  no  more  be  reproduced  than  the  sparkle  of  yes- 
terday's dew  or  the  ripple  of  yesterday's  waves.  It  was  a 
pleasant  thing  to  see  those  gray-haired  men,  many  of  whom 
had  been  burdened  with  care  more  than  half  a  century,  be- 
coming boy-like  again  in  feeling  and  mirthfulness." 

During  Edward's  residence  in  Cornwall,  each  year  about 
the  middle  of  June,  when  the  roses  and  strawberries  were  in 
their  prime,  it  was  his  custom  to  send  an  annual  invitation  to 
the  Philolethean  Club  of  clergymen  in  New  York  City  to 
visit  him  for  a  day  at  his  home.  Dr.  Howard  Crosby,  Dr. 
Lyman  Abbott,  Dr.  Schaeffer,  and  many  other  well-known 
clergymen  were  members  of  this  club.  At  these  meetings 
the  learned  and  dignified  clergymen  threw  aside  all  formal- 
ity and  were  like  a  company  of  college  boys  off  for  a  frolic. 
Their  keen  wit,  quick  repartee,  and  droll  stories  at  these 
times  will  never  be  forgotten  by  those  privileged  to  listen. 

In  1882  heavy  financial  loss  came  upon  us  as  a  family 
owing  to  the  failure  of  an  elder  brother.  Edward,  in  his  ef- 
forts to  help  him,  became  deeply  involved,  and  to  satisfy 
his  creditors  was  obliged  to  sell  the  copyrights  of  several  of 


FRUIT  CULTURE  AND  LITERARY  WORK  409 

his  earlier  books.  These  were  bought  by  a  friend  without 
his  knowledge  at  the  time.  After  several  years  of  incessant 
labor  he  worked  his  way  out  of  these  difficulties,  and,  owing 
to  the  immense  sale  of  his  books,  was  able  to  redeem  his  copy- 
rights. He  then  felt  free  to  take  rest  and  change  of  scene  in 
a  trip  to  Southern  California, 


R—R— XVIII 


410  HOME  LIFE 


CHAPTER  X 

HOME    LIFE 

AS  a  matter  of  course,  my  brotlier  had  frequent  calls 
interested  in,  and  curious  about,  the  private  life  of  a 
from  newspaper  correspondents  and  others  who  were 
successful  author.     The  first  of  the  articles  here  quoted  was 
entitled  "A  Talk  with  E.  P.  Roe,"  and  was  printed  in  a 
Brooklyn  newspaper  in  1886;  the  second  appeared  in  a  De- 
troit journal. 

"The  works  of  few  novelists  of  the  present  day  have  had 
such  remarkable  sales  as  those  of  Mr.  E.  P.  Roe,  and  this 
will  be  the  more  readily  granted  when  it  is  known  that  one 
million  copies  of  his  novels  have  been  sold  in  America  alone, 
to  which  nearly  one-half  of  that  number  may  be  added  as 
representing  their  sale  in  England,  Canada,  Australia,  and 
the  different  languages  into  which  they  have  been  translated. 

"In  appearance  the  novelist  is  a  man  of  a  trifle  over  the 
medium  size,  with  a  pleasant,  intellectual  face,  which  is  al- 
most covered  with  a  rich  and  handsome  coal-black  beard  and 
mustache.  Mr.  Roe  is  in  the  prime  of  manhood,  being  about 
forty-five  years  of  age,  and  his  manners  and  conversation  are 
the  most  kindly  and  engaging.  He  is  of  a  generous  dispo- 
sition, hospitable,  a  kind  friend,  and  never  happier  than  when 
in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  to  which  he  is  devotedly  attached. 

"It  was  the  pleasure  of  the  writer  a  few  evenings  ago  to 
meet  the  novelist  and  engage  him  in  conversation  regarding 
himself  and  his  works. 

1  'I  have  just  returned  from  an  afternoon  stroll/  re- 
marked the  novelist.     'This  is  my  invariable  custom  after 


HOME  LIFE  411 

my  day's  work.  When  do  I  work?  "Well,  I  generally  sit 
down  immediately  after  breakfast,  which  I  have  about  eight 
o'clock,  and  with  the  exception  of  an  hour  for  lunch,  I  write 
continuously  from  that  time  until  three  or  four  in  the  after- 
noon. Then  I  go  out  for  my  walk.' 

"  *You  never  work  at  night,  then  ?'  was  asked. 

"  'No;  it  is  a  bad  practice,  and  one  that  I  rarely  indulge 
in.  There  was  a  time  when  I  did  so,  but  my  work  always 
showed  it.  A  writer's  work  at  night  is  almost  always  morbid. 
There  is  no  better  time  to  work  than  during  the  morning.' 

"  'How  much  work  constitutes  a  day's  labor  with  you  ?' 

"  'That  varies  a  great  deal.  Sometimes  I  write  four  or 
five  pages  of  foolscap,  and  other  days  I  will  write  as  much  as 
fifteen.  I  have  no  average,  but  do  as  much  as  I  feel  like 
doing,  or  have  time  to  do,  and  then  I  stop.' 

"  'Do  you  derive  genuine  pleasure  from  your  work  ?' 

"  'Always,  for  I  am  absorbed  in  whatever  I  am  writing. 
I  presume  I  derived  the  most  pleasure  from  my  "Nature's 
Serial  Story,"  for  it  was  an  out-of-door  study,  and  anything 
about  nature  always  finds  a  responsive  chord  in  me.  Then, 
two  of  the  characters  of  that  work  portray  my  father  and  my 
mother,  and  their  memory  is  blessed  and  sacred  to  me.  All 
the  other  characters  are  imaginary.' 

"  'Are  your  stories  and  novels  based  on  facts  and  real 
happenings,  as  a  rule  ?' 

"  In  every  case,'  replied  Mr.  Roe.  'I  never  manufac- 
ture a  story;  I  couldn't  do  it.  Of  course,  I  elaborate  and 
idealize,  but  the  actual  facts  are  always  drawn  from  real  life. 
I  am  always  on  the  alert  for  these  incidents,  and  when  I  see 
what  I  think  is  adapted  for  a  story  I  make  a  note  of  it.' 

"  'Speaking  of  your  correspondence,  like  that  of  most 
authors,  I  presume  it  is  of  a  various  nature  ?' 

"  'Yes,  indeed/  laughingly  replied  the  novelist.  'It  is 
surprising  what  letters  I  sometimes  receive,  and  how  diffi- 
cult it  is  for  some  persons  to  realize  that  an  author's  time  is 
valuable.  Of  course,  I  am  not  a  stranger  to  the  autograph 
craze,  and  of  these  requests  I  receive,  I  think,  more  than  my 


412  HOME  LIFE 

share.  But  what  is  most  surprising  is  the  number  of  manu- 
scripts I  receive  from  young,  aspiring  authors.  I  am  often 
asked  "to  read  them,  revise  them  carefully,  and  express  an 
opinion  as  to  the  merit  of  the  contribution."  Why,  I  have 
frequently  been  requested  to  do  a  whole  month's  work  on  a 
single  manuscript.  What  do  I  do  with  these?  Well,  the 
best  I  can.  If  I  have  a  spare  moment,  I  look  over  the  story 
or  article,  and  encourage  the  writer,  if  possible.  But  at 
times  the  supply  is  too  great  for  physical  endurance/ 

"  'What  exercise  do  you  most  indulge  in,  and  what  par- 
ticular one  do  you  recommend?' 

"  'So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  I  like  a  good,  long  walk,  and 
this  is  what  I  would  recommend  to  all  who  work  with  the 
brain  and  are  confined.  Exercise  should  never,  in  my  opin- 
ion, be  taken  before  sitting  down  to  work,  always  after  the 
task  of  the  day  has  been  completed.  Then  one  receives  far 
more  benefit  from  it  than  if  taken  before  work.  I  also  like 
to  wt>rk  in  my  garden,  and  there  is  hardly  a  better  means  of 
exercise.  Hunting  and  fishing  are  also  favorite  sports  with 
me,  and  I  keep  a  good  gun  and  a  fishing-rod  close  at  hand.' 

"  'Have  you  entirely  given  up  gardening  for  literature  ?' 

"  'Yes,  almost  entirely,  even  in  an  amateur  way.  Of 
course  I  still  retain  an  active  interest  in  everything  that  is 
interesting  or  new  about  a  garden  or  a  farm.  But  as  to  any 
active  participation,  as  formerly,  I  have  been  obliged  to  de- 
sist.' 

"It  may  be  interesting  here  to  mention  that  the  grounds 
surrounding  Mr.  Roe's  rural  retreat  at  Cornwall-on-the-Hud- 
son  show  no  lack  of  proper  care  and  attention.  The  property 
consists  of  twenty-three  acres  and  is  all  cultivated  for  floral 
and  farming  purposes.  The  novelist  has  on  these  grounds 
alone  over  one  hundred  and  twelve  different  varieties  of 
grapes,  and  has  had  in  his  strawberry  beds  seventy  different 
varieties  of  that  luscious  berry  in  bearing  at  one  time.  One 
year  Mr.  Roe's  orchards  yielded  him,  among  other  products, 
one  hundred  and  fifty  barrels  of  apples,  and  this  year  abou* 
forty  bushels  of  pears  will  be  taken  from  his  trees- 


HOME   LIFE  413 

"  'What  are  your  immediate  plans  ?'  was  asked  the  novel- 
ist, as  he  courteously  showed  the  writer  into  the  dining-room 
in  response  to  the  merry  jingle  of  the  dinner-bell. 

"  'I  am  now  taking  a  brief  holiday,  resting  from  overwork. 
In  about  two  months  I  leave  the  North  for  Santa  Barbara, 
California,  where  I  may  remain  for  a  year,  or  may  return 
next  spring.  All  depends  upon  how  my  family  and  myself 
like  the  country  there.  I  go  there  partly  for  pleasure  and 
partly  for  work.  I  shall  doubtless  gather  considerable  new 
material,  and  this  I  shall  incorporate  in  future  works.  I 
shall  study  the  life  of  the  people  of  that  region,  and  intend 
more  especially  to  devote  myself  to  studying  nature  in  the  di- 
rection of  trees,  plants,  as  well  as  the  animals,  birds,  etc.,  of 
that  charming  country.  My  return  North  is  uncertain,  as  I 
have  said,  and  should  everything  prove  agreeable,  I  may  ex- 
tend my  residence  there  indefinitely.' 

"And  here  ended  the  writer's  chat  with  perhaps  the  most 
popular  author  of  the  day.  Mr.  Roe  is  extremely  retiring  in 
disposition;  he  never  courts  notoriety,  but  always  strictly 
avoids  it  whenever  possible.  And  with  his  large  black 
slouched  hat  set  carelessly  on  his  head  a  stranger  would  more 
readily  mistake  him  for  a  Cuban  planter,  with  his  dark  com- 
plexion, than  the  author  of  the  novels  which  have  entered 
into  thousands  of  American  homes." 

"Cornwall  is  situated  on  the  western  bank  of  the  Hud- 
son, just  north  of  the  Highlands.  If  you  arrive  by  steamer 
you  find  an  energetic  crowd  of  'bus  men,  who  are  eager  to 
be  of  service  to  you.  Most  of  the  vehicles  have  four  horses 
attached,  which  seem  to  tell  of  a  hill  in  the  neighborhood. 
We  passed  Cornwall  several  times  by  boat,  and  saw  enough 
of  the  energy  of  the  hackmen  to  make  us  resolve  to  reach  the 
place  some  time  when  they  were  absent.  Consequently  we 
sailed  down  on  Cornwall  as  General  Wolfe  sailed  down  on 
Quebec — in  a  small  boat,  and  captured  the  place  easily. 

"As  we  walked  up  the  rickety  steps  that  lead  from  the 
water  to  the  wharf,  there  was  no  deputation  there  to  meet  us. 


414  HOME    LIFE 


the  first  thing/  said  my  companion,  'is  to  find  out 
where  Mr.  Roe  lives.' 

"  'No,  that's  the  second  thing,'  I  replied.  'The  first 
thing  is  to  find  out  where  we  are  to  get  supper.' 

"The  reasonableness  of  this  proposal  was  so  apparent  that 
further  remark  was  not  so  necessary  as  finding  a  hotel  well 
stocked  with  provisions. 

"We  found  it  in  the  shape  of  an  unpretentious  brick 
structure  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  By  the  way,  everything  is 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill  at  Cornwall  Landing.  The  landlady, 
who  was  the  pink  of  neatness,  promised  us  all  we  could  eat  on 
our  return,  although  if  she  had  known  my  talents  in  that  line 
she  would  have  hesitated.  I  noticed  that  she  referred  to 
'Mr.  Roe,  the  author,'  while  our  fellow  voyager  in  the  small 
boat  spoke  of  him  as  'the  strawberry  man/  Probably  the  boor 
who  relished  the  production  of  Mr.  Roe's  garden  would  have 
been  surprised  to  know  that  the  productions  of  his  pen  were 
even  more  sought  after  than  that  delicious  fruit. 

"But  evening  is  coming  on  and  we  have  a  long  hill  be- 
fore us,  so  we  must  proceed.  A  Cornwall  road  is  always 
either  going  up  or  down,  and  a  person  gets  great  opportuni- 
ties for  rising  in  the  world  as  he  turns  his  back  on  the  Hud- 
son and  climbs  to  Cornwall.  The  road  winds  up  the  hill, 
often  shaded  by  trees  and  always  accompanied  by  a  moun- 
tain torrent  whose  rocky  bed  lies  deep  beside  the  pathway. 
This  stream  lacks  only  one  thing  to  make  it  a  success  —  and 
that  is  water.  No  doubt  after  a  heavy  rain  it  would  show 
commendable  enterprise,  but  now  the  rocks  were  dry.  A 
thin  thread  of  clear  spring  water  trickled  along  the  bottom  of 
the  ravine,  now  forming  a  silvery-toned  waterfall,  then  los- 
ing itself  among  the  loose  rocks,  next  finding  itself  again,  and 
sometimes  making  the  mistake  which  humanity  often  makes, 
of  spreading  itself  too  much  and  trying  to  put  on  the  airs  of 
larger  streams. 

"Half-way  up  is  a  spring,  surrounded  by  benches,  wel- 
come to  the  pedestrian  who  finds  tramping  uphill  business. 
The  clear,  cold  water  pours  out,  and  an  iron  dipper,  like 


HOME   LIFE  415 

Prometheus  'chained  to  a  pillar,'  invites  the  thirsty  to  have 
a  drink.  The  benches  form  a  semicircle  around  this  foun- 
tain, and  on  the  backs  thereof  some  one  has  painted  in  large 
letters  the  legend  'Please  don't  cut  an  old  friend.'  But  'ex- 
celsior' is  our  motto,  and  we  climb.  When  we  reach  the  top 
of  the  mountain  we  part  company  with  the  rivulet,  thinking, 
with  perhaps  a  sigh,  what  a  vast  advantage  water  has  over 
people — it  always  goes  down  hill.  Cornwall  now  begins  to 
show  its  beauties.  It  seems  to  be  a  big  village  composed  of 
splendid  residences  and  elegant  family  hotels — or  rather  huge 
summer  boarding-houses.  Excellent  roads  run  in  all  direc- 
tions, up  and  down,  turning  now  to  the  right  and  now  to  the 
left,  until  a  stranger  loses  all  idea  of  the  points  of  the  com- 
pass. 

"About  a  mile  from  the  landing,  if  you  are  in  a  carriage, 
or  about  five  miles  if  you  are  on  foot,  you  come  to  an  open 
gateway,  through  which  a  road  turns  that  might  be  mistaken 
for  one  of  the  many  offshoots  of  the  public  street,  were  it  not 
that  a  notice  conspicuously  posted  up  informs  the  traveller 
that  the  way  is  private  property.  A  cottage,  probably  a  gar- 
dener's residence,  stands  beside  the  gate.  The  land  slopes 
gently  downward  from  the  road  and  then  rises  beyond,  leav- 
ing a  wide  valley  between  the  street  and  a  large  two-story 
frame  building  that  stands  on  the  rising  ground.  This  is  the 
home  of  E.  P.  Roe,  author  of  'Barriers  Burned  Away,' 
'Opening  a  Chestnut  Burr,'  'From  Jest  to  Earnest,'  and 
other  well-known  works,  read  and  enjoyed  by  thousands  in 
America  and  in  England.  Between  the  house  and  the  road 
are  long  rows  of  strawberry  plants  that  looked  tempting  even 
in  September.  The  house  stands  in  about  the  centre  of  a 
plot  of  twenty-three  acres.  The  side  is  toward  the  road,  and 
a  broad  piazza  runs  along  the  length  of  it,  from  which 
glimpses  of  the  distant  Hudson  can  be  had  through  the 
framework  of  trees  and  hills.  The  piazza  is  reached  by 
broad  steps,  and  is  high  enough  from  the  ground  to  make  a 
grand  tumbling-off  place  for  the  numerous  jovial  and  robust 
youngsters  that  romp  around  there  and  call  Mr.  Roe  'papa'. 


416  HOME   LIFE 

A  wide  hall  runs  through  the  centre  of  the  house,  and  the 
whole  dwelling  has  a  roomy  air  that  reminds  one  of  the  gen- 
erous and  hospitable  mansions  for  which  the  South  is  famous. 
Mr.  Roe's  house  is  without  any  attempt  at  architectural  orna- 
mentation, unless  the  roof  window  in  the  centre  can  be  called 
an  ornament;  but  there  is  something  very  homelike  about 
the  place,  something  that  is  far  beyond  the  powers  of  archi- 
tecture to  supply. 

"My  fellow-traveller  sat  down  in  one  of  the  rural  chairs 
that  stood  invitingly  on  the  piazza,  and  I  manipulated  the 
door-bell. 

"While  the  servant  is  coming  to  open  the  door  I  may  as 
well  confess  that  I  have  undertaken  to  write  the  play  of 
Hamlet  with  Hamlet  left  out. 

"Mr.  Roe  was  not  at  home. 

"I  tell  this  now  so  that  the  reader  will  not  be  disappointed 
when  the  girl  opens  the  door. 

"The  door  opens. 

"Could  we  see  Mr.  Roe? 

"Mr.  Roe  had  left  that  very  morning  for  New  York. 

"  'He  evidently  heard  in  some  way  we  were  coming/ 
said  my  companion,  sotto  voce. 

"When  would  he  return? 

"Perhaps  not  this  week.  Would  we  walk  in  and  see 
Mrs.  Roe? 

"The  next  thing  to  seeing  an  author  is  to  see  the  author's 
wife,  so  we  accepted  the  invitation  and  walked  into  the  par- 
lor. Before  we  walked  out  we  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  next  thing  to  seeing  the  author's  wife  is  to  see  the  author. 

"Now,  of  course,  I  might  have  taken  an  inventory  of  the 
articles  in  the  parlor,  just  as  if  I  were  a  deputy  sheriff,  or  a 
tax  collector,  or  something  of  that  sort,  but  I  didn't.  I  might 
tell  of  the  piano  that  stood  in  one  corner  and  the  pile  of 
music  that  reached  from  the  floor  to  the  top  of  it,  and  of  the 
little  table  covered  with  stereoscopic  views,  and  the  photo- 
graph of  Mr.  Roe  framed  above  it,  and  of  the  two  low  front 
windows  with  their  river  view  and  their  lace  curtains,  and 


SOME   LIFE  417 

the  large  folding-doors  opening  into  the  library,  the  work- 
shop of  Mr.  Roe,  and  of  the  quiet,  neutral  tints  of  the  carpet, 
or  the  many  contents  of  the  whatnot  in  the  corner,  and  the 
paintings  and  engravings  on  the  walls,  and  the  comfortable 
easy-chairs,  and  the  books  scattered  here  and  there,  and  of 
dozens  of  other  things  that  made  up  an  author's  parlor,  but  I 
will  not  mention  one  of  them. 

"I  had  the  idea  that  E.  P.  Roe  was  a  kindly  old  gentle- 
man with  gray  hair.  Kindly  he  undoubtedly  is,  but  old  he 
is  not.  His  portrait  shows  him  to  have  a  frank,  manly 
countenance,  with  an  earnest  and  somewhat  sad  expression. 
He  has  dark  hair  and  a  full  beard,  long  and  black.  Mr.  Roe 
is  at  present  writing  a  series  of  articles  on  small  fruits  for 
'Scribner's  Magazine.'  The  publishers  of  that  periodical 
intend  to  give  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Roe,  which  will  be  the  first 
ever  published.  It  may  appear  in  the  December  number, 
and  if  it  does  the  readers  of  this  paper  are  respectfully  re- 
ferred to  the  pages  of  that  magazine.  It  seems  to  be  the 
general  idea  that  Mr.  Roe  is  an  old  man.  For  instance,  a 
lady  writing  from  Wheeling,  W.  Va.,  to  the  'Household,'  a 
few  weeks  since,  says : — 

"  'Some  one  asked  if  Rev.  E.  P.  Roe  had  taken  his  char- 
acters from  life  or  not.  Several  years  ago  we  had  amongst 
us  a  certain  Professor  Roe  (vocal  teacher,  possessing  a  beauti- 
ful tenor  voice),  said  to  be  a  son  of  the  novelist.  If  he  was 
a  son,  the  character  of  Walter  Gregory  in  "Opening  a 
Chestnut  Burr"  was  certainly  drawn  from  him,  and  it  always 
seemed  to  me  that  Dennis  Elect's  wonderful  voice  in  "Bar- 
riers Burned  Away"  was  likened  to  his  voice.' 

"If  this  writer  could  have  seen  the  youthful  appearance 
of  Mrs.  Roe,  she  would  have  no  hesitation  in  denying  the 
professor's  alleged  relationship  to  the  novelist.  Her  hus- 
band is  not  yet  forty. 

"I  wish  'Scribner's'  would  publish  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Roe. 
It  would  certainly  add  to  the  popularity  of  the  magazine. 
Such  a  lady  must  be  a  wonderful  help  to  her  husband.  I 


418  HOME  LIFE 

think,  as  a  general  thing,  the  world  gives  too  little  credit  to 
the  power  behind  the  throne. 

"Mrs.  Hoe  deserves  at  least  half  the  credit  of  'Barriers 
Burned  Away,'  which  is  certainly  E.  P.  Roe's  most  dramatic 
work,  and  had,  no  doubt,  a  great  deal  to  do  with  many  of  his 
other  volumes.  This  particular  work  describes  the  thrilling 
scenes  of  the  Chicago  fire  with  a  vividness  and  power  that  is 
rarely  surpassed.  When  the  whole  world  was  thrilled  by 
the  dreadful  tidings  of  a  city's  destruction,  Mr.  Roe  said  to 
his  wife  that  if  he  could  collect  some  of  the  actual  occurrences 
that  must  be  transpiring  there  he  thought  he  could  write  a 
book  about  it.  Mrs.  Roe  at  once  decided  for  him.  Her 
advice  was  that  so  tersely  put  by  Mr.  Greeley.  Although 
nearly  a  thousand  miles  intervened,  Mr.  Roe  was  in  Chicago 
before  the  fire  had  ceased,  and  the  incidents  so  graphically 
depicted  in  'Barriers  Burned  Away'  were  the  result  of  actual 
observation. 

"Most  of  Mr.  Roe's  characters  are  taken  from  real  life, 
and  all  of  his  works  are  written  for  a  purpose,  as  can  readily 
be  seen  in  'What  Can  She  Do?'  for  example.  His  next 
book,  which  will  be  published  in  a  few  days,  will  furnish 
another  instance  of  writing  for  a  purpose.  Its  title  is,  'With- 
out a  Home ;'  the  subject  it  treats  is  the  tenement-house  prob- 
lem, which  is  at  present  agitating  New  York  and  all  large 
cities.  In  this  work  the  scenes  and  personages  will  be  nearly 
all  from  real  life.  If  the  book  were  not  in  press  the  tene- 
ment-house fires  in  New  York  on  Friday,  causing  the  death 
of  seven  persons,  would  furnish  a  tragic  climax  to  his  story. 
What  could  be  more  terribly  pathetic  than  the  frantic  mother 
penned  in  by  the  smoke  and  flame,  dragging  herself  to  the 
bedside  of  her  children  to  die  with  them?  In  choosing  the 
evils  of  the  tenement-house  system  as  a  subject,  Mr.  Roe 
strikes  at  one  of  the  worst  features  of  city  life. 

"It  was  to  finish  the  last  pages  of  this  book  that  Mr.  Roe 
was  now  'Without  a  Home'  himself,  and  as  the  printers  were 
clamoring  for  copy,  he  had  betaken  himself  to  a  room  in  a 
New  York  hotel  to  write  without  interruption.  Mr.  Roe  is 


HOME   LIFE  419 

too  good-natured  to  deny  himself  to  visitors,  and  they  make 
great  inroads  on  his  time. 

"  'If  he  hears  the  voice  of  a  friend,'  said  Mrs.  Roe,  Tie 
cannot  remain  at  his  desk.' 

"So  when  there  is  work  that  must  be  done,  Mr.  Roe  ban- 
ishes himself  from  home  and  friends  and  flies  to  that  loneli- 
ness which  only  a  great  and  crowded  city  can  supply. 

"Mrs.  Roe's  favorite  book  is  'The  Opening  of  a  Chestnut 
Burr,'  and  this  must  be  a  favorite  work  with  many,  for  it 
has  reached  its  thirtieth  thousand,  not  to  mention  the  numer- 
ous reprints  in  England  and  Canada.  The  realistic  incident 
in  this  work,  which  supplies  the  place  the  Chicago  fire  does  in 
the  other,  is  the  sinking  in  mid-ocean  of  the  French  steamer 
Ville  d'Havre. 

"I  think,  although  it  is  only  mere  conjecture  on  my  part, 
that  Mrs.  Roe  herself  is  the  heroine  of  this  book.  For  that 
reason  I  shall  not  attempt  to  say  anything  of  the  lady,  as  the 
reader  can  turn  to  the  book  and  satisfy  all  curiosity  there. 
But  if  I  should  find,  at  some  future  time,  that  I  am  mistaken 
in  my  surmise,  I  shall  make  that  my  excuse  for  the  pleasant 
task  of  writing  again  of  Mrs.  Roe.  The  old  homestead  is  de- 
scribed in  the  'Opening  a  Chestnut  Burr,'  and  naturally 
this  would  endear  the  book  to  those  who  lived  there. 

"The  library  in  which  Mr.  Roe  does  his  writing,  when  at 
home,  is  a  sunny  room  filled  from  floor  to  ceiling  with  books. 
A  large  flat  desk,  covered  with  papers,  stands  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  and  this  is  the  novelist's  work-bench.  I  shall  con- 
clude with  a  few  words  regarding  Mr.  Roe's  method  of  work- 
ing. Mr.  Roe  himself  has  supplied  this  in  a  letter  written 
nearly  a  year  ago,  to  an  admirer,  and  part  of  which  I  am  al- 
lowed to  copy.  This  extract  forms  a  portion  of  Mr.  Roe's 
work  never  before  published,  and  the  writer  himself  had  no 
idea  it  would  ever  appear  in  print.  The  letter  bears  date 
November  25,  1878.  He  says: — 

"  'My  aim  is  to  spend  the  earlier  part  of  the  day  in  my 
study,  but  I  cannot  always  control  my  time,  much  of  which  is 
lost  in  interruptions.  I  sometimes  have  to  go  away  and  shut 


420  HOME   LIFE 

myself  up  for  a  time.  I  am  not  as  systematic  as  I  ought  to 
be.  I  like  to  write  the  latter  part  of  my  books  at  white  heat, 
first  getting  full  of  my  story  and  then  writing  with  a  zest.  I 
call  from  five  to  eight  pages  a  good  day's  work,  although  in 
some  moods  I  write  many  more.  Again,  I  will  work  hard 
over  three  or  four.  I  am  opposed  to  night  work. 

"  'I  hope  to  average  five  hours  a  day  hereafter  in  my 
study,  and  three  or  four  in  my  garden.  I  employ  from  ten 
to  fifteen  men  and  from  ten  to  thirty  boys  in  picking  the 
berries.  A  large  part  of  my  labor  is  employed  in  taking  up 
and  packing  plants.  The  department  of  fruit  culture  to 
which  I  give  my  chief  attention,  is  the  keeping  of  each  variety 
separate  and  pure.  This  I  trust  to  no  one,  and  it  requires 
constant  vigilance.' 

"After  leaving  the  residence  of  Mr.  Roe,  we  went  half  a 
mile  or  so  further  on  to  Idlewild,  once  the  home  of  N.  P. 
Willis.  Darkness  came  on  before  we  reached  there  and  we 
had  our  labor  for  our  pains. 

"Mrs.  Roe  said  that  Idlewild  is  little  changed  since  the 
poet  left  it.  A  recent  freshet  swept  away  the  bridges  he 
built  in  the  Glen,  but  otherwise  it  is  the  same  as  it  was  before. 
Thus  ended  our  visit  to  Cornwall-on-the-Hudson." 


SANTA  BARBARA  421 


M 


CHAPTER    XI 


SANTA     BARBARA 

Y  brother's  boyhood  friend,  Mr.  Merwin,  speaking  of 
his  visits  at  Cornwall  later,  says:  "When  honors 
came  in  troops,  I  found  Edward  was  the  same  kindly 
unostentatious  man,  the  truly  loyal  friend.  Later,  after 
some  correspondence  with  me,  he  came  to  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, where  under  those  sunny  skies  and  semi-tropical 
scenes  his  love  of  Nature  found  great  delight. 

"While  visiting  at  Pasadena,  as  we  drove  about  that 
beautiful  city,  he  emphasized  what  he  had  often  told  me,  that 
one  of  the  great  joys  of  his  life  was  that  which  came  to  him 
from  the  hundreds  of  letters  from  all  parts  of  the  country, 
and  many  written  by  people  in  humble  circumstances,  thank- 
ing him  most  heartily  for  the  cheer  and  encouragement  he 
had  given  them  through  his  books." 

After  a  short  stay  with  his  friend  in  Pasadena  Edward 
went  with  his  wife  and  children  to  Santa  Barbara.  There 
they  occupied  a  pleasantly  situated  cottage,  owned  by  a  New 
England  lady  and  her  daughter,  under  whose  excellent  care 
they  enjoyed  the  rest  and  freedom  from  restraint  that  cannot 
be  found  in  crowded  hotels. 

In  a  letter  written  to  the  Detroit  "Tribune"  my  brother 
gives  his  experience  of  a  California  winter. 

"My  impression  is  that  January  first  was  the  warmest 
day  of  the  month.  Certainly  on  no  other  days  was  I  so 
conscious  of  the  sun's  heat,  yet  the  air  was  so  deliciously  cool 
and  fresh  in  the  early  morning.  There  had  been  a  heavy 


422  SANTA   BARBARA 

dew,  and  grass,  weed,  hedge,  and  flower  were  gemmed  in  the 
brilliant  sunshine. 

"Walking  uptown  with  my  mail  at  about  ten  in  the 
morning,  I  found  myself  perspiring  as  upon  a  hot  day  in 
August,  but  there  was  no  sense  of  oppression.  One  was  ex- 
hilarated rather  than  wilted.  After  reaching  our  cottage 
piazza  and  the  shelter  of  the  climbing  roses  and  honeysuckle, 
the  change  was  decidedly  marked.  This  is  said  to  be  the 
peculiarity  the  year  round,  even  in  midsummer.  One  has 
only  to  step  out  of  the  sun's  rays  in  order  to  be  cool,  and  the 
dead,  sultry  heat  which  sometimes  induces  one  to  yearn  for 
the  depths  of  a  cave  is  unknown. 

"As  I  sat  there  in  the  shade,  letting  the  paper  fall  from 
my  hand  in  the  deeper  interest  excited  by  my  immediate 
surroundings,  I  could  scarcely  realize  that  we  were  in  the 
depths  of  winter. 

"The  air  was  fragrant  from  blooming  flowers ;  finches  and 
Audubon's  warblers  were  full  of  song  in  the  pepper  trees, 
while  humming-birds  were  almost  as  plentiful  as  bumble- 
bees in  June. 

"It  was  evident  that  the  day  was  being  celebrated  in  the 
manner  characteristic  of  the  place.  One  might  fancy  that 
half  the  population  were  on  horseback.  In  twos  and  fours 
they  clattered  along  the  adjacent  streets,  while  from  more 
distant  thoroughfares,  until  the  sounds  were  like  faint  echoes, 
came  also  the  sounds  of  horses'  feet  rapidly  striking  the  hard 
adobe  of  the  roadways.  In  addition  to  those  who  gave  the 
impression  of  life  and  movement  in  the  suburbs  of  the  town, 
large  equestrian  parties  had  started  for  mountain  passes  and 
distant  canyons,  taking  with  them  hearty  lunches  in  which  the 
strawberries  were  a  leading  feature.  As  long  as  the  sun  was 
well  above  the  horizon  delicate  girls,  almost  in  summer  cos- 
tume, could  sit  in  the  shade  of  the  live-oaks  in  safety,  but 
when  the  sun  declines  to  a  certain  point,  between  four  and 
five  in  winter,  there  is  a  sudden  chill  in  the  air,  and  those  who 
do  not  protect  themselves  by  wraps  or  overcoats  are  likely  to 


SANTA  BARBARA  423 

be  punished  with  as  severe  colds  as  they  would  take  in  a  Bos- 
ton east  wind. 

"It  has  often  seemed  to  me  warmer  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening  than  at  four  in  the  afternoon. 

"We  resolved  to  have  our  holiday  outing  as  well  as  the 
others,  and  after  dinner  were  bowling  out  on  the  road  to 
Montecito,  the  favorite  suburb  of  Santa  Barbara.  The  fields 
by  the  roadside  were  as  bare  and  brown  as  ours  in  winter 
when  not  covered  with  snow,  but  drought,  not  frost,  was  the 
cause.  The  'rainy  season'  was  well  advanced,  but  there  had 
been  no  rain  in  quantity  sufficient  to  awaken  nature  from  her 
sleep.  In  this  climate  vegetation  is  always  a  question  of 
moisture. 

"When  reaching  the  villa  region  of  Montecito,  blossoming 
jgardens  and  green  lawns  illustrated  this  truth.  After  a  visit 
to  the  beautiful  grounds  and  fine  residence  of  Mr.  A.  L. 
Anderson,  so  well  remembered  by  thousands  as  the  captain 
of  the  favorite  Hudson  River  steamboat  the  'Mary  Powell,' 
we  drove  on  to  one  of  the  largest  orange  groves  on  this  part 
of  the  coast.  Mr.  Johnson,  one  of  the  proprietors,  received 
us  most  hospitably,  and  led  the  way  into  a  grove  that  sloped 
toward  the  mountains.  The  ground  was  scrupulously  free 
from  weeds,  mellow  as  an  ash  heap,  and  had  evidently  been 
made  very  fertile.  Mr.  Johnson  told  me  that  he  fed  the  trees 
constantly  and  liberally,  and  this  course  is  in  accordance  with 
nature  and  with  reason,  for  the  orange  tree  never  rests. 
While  the  fruit  is  ripening  the  tree  is  blossoming  for  a  new 
crop.  Always  growing  and  producing,  it  requires  a  constant 
supply  of  plant  food,  and  one  of  the  causes  of  the  deep  green 
and  vigorous  aspect  of  the  grove  and  its  fruitfulness  consisted 
undoubtedly  in  the  richness  at  the  roots. 

"Another  and  leading  cause  was  in  abundant  supply  of 
water. 

"From  a  canyon  near  by  a  mountain  stream  flowed  down 
skirting  the  grove.  This  stream  was  tapped  by  an  iron  pipe 
at  a  point  sufficiently  high  to  furnish  by  gravity  all  the  water 


424  SANTA   BARBARA 

required,  and  it  was  distributed  by  a  simple  yet  ingenious 
contrivance. 

"The  utmost  vigilance  is  exercised  against  insect  pests 
and  the  mutilation  of  the  roots  by  gophers.  The  results  of 
all  this  intelligent  care  and  cultivation  were  seen  in  the . 
surprising  beauty  and  fruitfulness  of  the  trees,  which  were 
laden  with  from  one  to  two  thousand  golden-hued  oranges,  in 
addition  to  the  green  ones  not  to  be  distinguished  from  the 
leaves  at  a  distance.  Even  so  early  in  the  season  there  were 
a  sufficient  number  of  blossoms  to  fill  the  air  with  fragrance. 

"The  brook  babbled  with  a  summer-like  sound,  and  the 
illusion  of  summer  was  increased  by  the  song  of  birds,  the 
flutter  of  butterflies,  and  the  warm  sunshine,  rendering  vivid 
the  gold  and  glossy  green  of  the  groves.  Rising  near  and  re- 
flecting down  the  needed  heat  were  the  rocky  and  precipitous 
slopes  of  the  Santa  Ynez  Mountains.  Turning  on  one's  heel, 
the  silver  sheen  of  the  Pacific  Ocean,  gemmed  with  islands, 
stretched  away  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Could  this  be 
January  ?  On  our  way  home  I  felt  that  it  might  be,  for  as 
the  sun  sunk  low  wraps  and  overcoats,  which  could  not  have 
been  endured  an  hour  before,  seemed  scarcely  adequate  pro- 
tection against  the  sudden  chill. 

"Throughout  the  month  there  were  many  days  like  the 
first,  summer-like  sunshine  followed  by  chilly  evenings  and 
cool  nights.  No  rain  fell  and  clouds  were  rarely  seen.  The 
temperature  gradually  became  lower  even  at  midday,  and 
occasionally  in  the  early  morning  there  was  a  white  frost  on 
the  boards  and  sidewalks.  The  roses  grew  more  scattering 
in  the  bushes.  Nature  did  not  absolutely  stop  and  rest,  but 
she  went  slow  over  the  cold  divide  of  the  year.  I  know  not 
how  it  was  with  the  old  residents,  but  a  sense  of  winter 
haunted  me,  especially  on  the  quiet,  star-lit  nights.  I  some- 
times questioned  whether  this  sense  resulted  from  the  im- 
pressions of  a  lifetime,  made  at  this  season,  or  was  due  to 
climatic  influences.  To  both,  I  fancy.  When  a  baker's 
horse  and  wagon,  furnished  with  bells,  jingled  by,  it  was  a 
sleigh  until  memory  asserted  itself. 


SANTA   BARBARA  425 

"When  abroad,  even  in  the  bright,  warm  sunshine,  some- 
thing in  the  appearance  of  the  sky,  the  feel  of  the  atmosphere, 
and  the  aspect  of  the  bare,  brown  fields  suggested  winter  and 
created  a  momentary  astonishment  at  the  flowers  which  con- 
tinued to  bloom  in  the  watered  gardens. 

"I  was  continually  aware  of  a  conscious  effort  to  account 
for  what  I  saw  and  to  readjust  my  ideas  to  a  new  order  of 
things. 

"The  season  seemed  an  anomaly,  for  it  was  neither  sum- 
mer nor  winter,  fall  nor  spring,  in  accordance  with  one's  pre- 
vious impressions.  The  visage  of  nature  had  an  odd  and 
peculiar  aspect.  It  was  as  if  the  face  of  an  old  friend  had 
assumed  an  expression  never  seen  before.  There  was  no 
ambiguity  or  uncertainty  upon  one  point,  however,  and  that 
was  the  need  of  winter  clothing  by  day  and  of  blankets  at 
night,  roses  and  sunshine  notwithstanding,  and  those  propos- 
ing to  come  here  should  always  remember  the  chill  of  shade 
and  apartments  without  fires. 

"Although  the  mercury  never  marks  extreme  cold,  the 
sense  of  cold  is  often  felt  keenly  unless  adequate  provision 
is  made  against  it.  All  that  is  needed,  however,  is  a  little 
prudence,  for  one  never  has  to  guard  against  sudden  and  vio- 
lent changes. 

"As  in  the  East,  so  here,  winter  is  especially  dedicated 
to  social  pleasures.  Much  of  the  gayety  centres  at  the  two 
fine  hotels,  the  Arlington  and  the  San  Marcos,  both  under 
the  efficient  management  of  one  proprietor,  Mr.  Cowles.  The 
townspeople  are  much  indebted  to  his  genial  courtesy,  and 
the  spacious  parlors  are  often  lined  with  the  parents  and 
chaperons  of  young  ladies  from  the  city  of  Santa  Barbara 
as  well  as  with  his  guests,  while  the  entertainments  have  the 
best  characteristics  of  a  dancing  party  at  a  private  dwelling. 
It  is  very  fortunate  for  the  young  people  that  there  are  such 
unexceptional  places  in  which  to  meet,  for  this  town  is  pe- 
culiarly a  city  of  cottages,  few  being  large  enough  for  assem- 
blies of  any  considerable  numbers. 


426  SANTA  BARBARA 

"There  is  consequently  much  social  life  in  a  quiet,  in- 
formal way. 

"One  of  the  remarkable  characteristics  of  the  town  is  the 
large  percentage  of  what  is  justly  termed  good  society — a 
society  not  resting  its  claims  on  wealth  or  an  ancestry  long, 
known  and  recognized  in  the  vicinity,  but  on  the  much  better 
qualities  of  refinement,  intelligence,  and  cultivation.  Search 
for  health  and  a  genial  climate  have  brought  people  here 
from  all  parts  of  the  Union,  and  not  a  few,  after  long  resi- 
dence abroad,  prefer  this  Pacific  slope  to  any  of  the  world- 
renowned  regions  on  the  Mediterranean.  One  therefore  soon 
discovers  a  marked  absence  of  provincialism  and  is  led  to 
expect  that  the  quiet  lady  or  gentleman  to  whom  he  is  intro- 
duced has  seen  far  more  of  the  world  than  himself.  The 
small,  unpretentious  cottage  facing  the  grassy  sidewalk  may 
be  inhabited  by  a  mechanic,  or  it  may  be  the  dwelling-place 
of  people  cosmopolitan  in  their  culture  and  experience. 
Strangers  are  not  wholly  dependent  on  each  other  for  society, 
as  is  so  often  true  of  health  resorts,  but  find  a  resident  popula- 
tion both  hospitable  and  acquainted  with  life  in  its  most 
varied  aspects.  Much  of  the  abundant  leisure  possessed  by 
many  is  spent  in  reading,  and  to  this  pleasure  a  large,  well- 
selected  free  library  contributes  greatly." 

Edward  had  the  good  fortune  to  arrive  at  Santa  Barbara 
in  time  to  witness  its  unique  centennial  celebration,  of  which 
he  gives  a  detailed  description. 

"SAXTA  BARBARA,  Cal.,  January  7,  1887. 

"Few  more  interesting  events  ever  took  place  in  the 
quaint  and  quiet  town  of  Santa  Barbara  than  its  centennial, 
and  nothing  resembling  it  in  any  true  sense  can  ever  occur 
again.  The  Indian  element  of  this  region  receded  and  dis- 
appeared before  the  Spanish,  and  the  latter  population  is  fast 
becoming  a  minority  among  the  still  paler  faces  arriving  from 
the  East.  The  time  perhaps  is  not  distant  when  Santa  Bar- 
bara may  be  known  as  a  New  England  city.  Even  in  its 
centennial  the  great  effort  made  to  recall  the  past  and  the 


SANTA  BARBARA  427 

old  resulted  in  a  large  degree  from  the  interest  taken  by  new 
comers  in  vanishing  phases  of  life.  The  success  of  the  enter- 
prise was  due  largely  to  the  organization,  young  in  age  and 
composed  chiefly  of  youthful  members,  entitled  the  'Go  Ahead 
Club.'  The  name  itself  suggests  the  East,  and  the  opposite 
of  the  Spanish  disposition  to  permit  each  day  to  be  a  repeti- 
tion of  a  former  day,  yet  the  club  had  the  tact  and  friendly 
feeling  to  co-operate  with  the  best  Spanish  element,  and  to 
bring  about  a  festival  week  which  interested  all  classes  of 
people. 

"For  days  even  a  stranger  was  impressed  by  a  slight 
bustle  of  preparation.  When  riding  up  from  the  steamer  we 
saw,  in  the  dim  starlight,  that  a  great  arch  spanned  Main 
Street.  Observation  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  the  morrow 
proved  this  arch  to  be  a  wooden  structure  and  a  fine  imitation 
of  the  front  of  the  old  Mission  with  its  quaint  towers.  Busy 
workmen  were  draping  the  edifice  with  some  variety  of  aro- 
matic evergreen  and  with  palm  leaves,  and  it  still  remains 
as  a  suggestion  to  new  comers  of  what  they  missed  in  not 
arriving  earlier. 

"The  opening  ceremonies  of  the  week  naturally  centred 
at  the  Mission  Church,  and  on  Sunday  the  religious  phase  of 
the  festival  culminated.  Even  before  we  were  through  break- 
fast groups  were  seen  pressing  from  town.  Later  there  were 
the  sounds  of  rapid  wheels  and  the  echoing  tramp  of  horses. 
We  soon  joined  the  increasing  throng  wending  its  way  up  the 
slopes  which  lift  the  Mission  above  the  town  and  place  it 
against  the  grand  mountain  background.  Spanish  colors, 
red  and  yellow,  hung  from  tower  to  tower,  while  American 
flags  floated  from  the  belfry  arches.  Within  the  long,  narrow 
interior  of  the  church  the  sunshine  contended  with  innumer- 
able candles  flickering  on  the  altar,  at  the  shrines,  and  from 
the  chandeliers.  The  softly  blended  light  revealed  the  beau- 
tiful decorations  drawn  from  the  abundant  flora  and  plant 
life  of  the  region. 

"The  elaborate  service  began,  the  fragrance  of  roses  was 
lost  in  that  of  the  incense,  the  rustle  of  dresses  and  tread  of 


428  SANTA   BARBARA 

incoming  feet  in  the  mellow  tones  of  the  chanting  priest  and 
the  responses  of  the  choir.  Every  seat  and  all  standing 
room  was  occupied,  rich  and  poor  sharing  alike  according  to 
the  earliness  of  their  arrival.  Next  to  a  dark-visaged  Span- 
ish laborer  might  be  seen  the  delicate  bloom  of  a  New  Eng- 
land girl's  features.  Beautiful  lace  mantillas  were  worn  in 
several  instances.  In  looking  at  them  one  sighed  as  he 
thought  of  the  various  monstrosities  termed  bonnets  which 
disfigure  modern  women.  The  clergy  were  in  their  most 
gorgeous  robes,  strong  contrasts  in  tone  and  color  on  every 
side,  but  above  all  was  a  sense  of  the  past  touching  the  pres- 
ent in  many  and  unexpected  ways;  and  this  effect  was  en- 
hanced by  a  sermon  in  English,  giving  an  account  of  the 
founding  of  the  Mission.  Late  one  afternoon,  on  a  subse- 
quent day,  I  found  the  door  of  the  church  open  and,  ventur- 
ing in,  saw  the  western  sun  shining  through  the  high,  narrow 
windows,  lighting  up  shrines  and  images  with  the  mellowest 
light  and  throwing  others  into  the  deepest  shadow. 

"No  one  was  visible,  yet  in  the  silence  and  desertion  of 
the  place  one  felt  more  like  worship  than  when,  a  part  of  the 
throng,  he  witnessed  the  ceremonials  of  the  preceding 
Sunday. 

"Later  still,  returning  from  a  ramble  in  Mission  Canyon, 
I  peeped  into  the  old  church  once  more.  Twilight  had  deep- 
ened into  dusk — all  was  dark  within,  except  the  faintest 
glimmer  of  a  taper  at  the  altar,  where  it  was  evident  that 
some  of  the  Franciscans  were  engaged  in  their  devotions.  As 
I  crept  noiselessly  away  the  bells  chimed  out  from  the  belfry. 
In  the  upper  gallery  of  the  long  corridor  stretching  from  the 
right  of  the  chapel  there  was  an  immediate  opening  of  doors 
and  a  shuffling  of  feet. 

"Evidently  the  bells  had  summoned  to  some  new  duty — 
attendance  in  the  refectory  at  that  hour,  I  trust — and  I  could 
have  cordially  joined  the  venerable  fathers  then,  however 
simple  their  diet. 

"On  Monday  the  festival  passed  into  its  secular  aspect. 
The  morning  was  deemed  most  unfavorable  in  this  climate, 

'* 


SANTA   BARBARA  429 

where  a  cloud,  even  in  winter,  is  far  more  rare  than  roses. 
The  sky  was  overcast  with  what  Spaniards  call  a  'high  fog.' 
But  the  sun  soon  proved  to  be  the  victor,  for  early  in  the  day 
the  leaden  pall  was  shot  through  and  through  with  light. 
Not  only  from  the  most  distant  and  well-to-do  ranches,  but 
from  all  the  small  adobe  houses  and  huts  that  skirt  the  moun- 
tains, the  people  were  on  the  way  to  town  in  the  early  hours. 
They  appeared  on  the  streets  in  almost  every  description  of 
vehicle  imaginable, and  not  a  fewlookedas  if  they  had  trudged 
from  a  long  distance.  The  majority,  both  of  men  and 
women,  had  apparently  ridden  in  on  their  broncho  horses, 
the  hardy  and  often  vicious  native  breed  of  the  region.  The 
townspeople  had  prepared  a  brilliant  welcome,  for  the  whole 
length  of  State  Street  was  decorated  with  flags  and  streamers 
of  many  and  varied  devices,  the  Spanish  and  American  colors 
blending  most  amicably.  There  was  bustle  and  movement, 
life  and  color,  with  an  increasing  concourse  throughout  the 
whole  length  of  the  thoroughfare.  To  a  stranger's  eye,  men 
in  various  costumes  were  riding  aimlessly  and  often  furiously 
to  and  fro,  but  as  noon  approached  affairs  began  to  culminate 
in  the  blocks  above  the  Arlington  Hotel.  Here  the  proces- 
sion was  forming,  and  it  proved  to  be  the  chief  event  of  the 
week.  Nature  was  now  assisting  to  make  the  occasion  all 
that  could  be  desired.  The  clouds  that  had  threatened  now 
merely  saved  the  day  from  an  unredeemed  glare.  After  the 
usual  delay  in  processions,  it  began  to  pass  the  balcony  of 
the  Arlington  Hotel,  where  scores  of  guests  were  assembled 
to  witness  the  pageant.  First  came  the  grand  marshal  in  a 
genuine  Mexican  suit  and  mantle.  Following  him  were  his 
aides,  dressed  in  rich,  various,  and  characteristic  Spanish  cos- 
tumes, some  of  which  were  remarkable  for  their  beauty  and 
others  were  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  One  young  gentle- 
man was  habited  in  blue,  lavishly  laced  with  silver.  It  was 
the  cadet  uniform  of  the  Spanish  army,  and  had  belonged  to 
his  grandfather.  Another,  clad  in  cream-white  satin  and 
gold  lace,  with  crimson  sash  and  other  accessories,  made  a 
striking  figure. 


430  SANTA    BARBARA 

"Indeed,  each  of  the  aides  graced  the  occasion  in  hand- 
some costumes  which  were,  as  I  was  told,  no  capricious  and 
fancy  affairs,  but  a  reproduction  of  the  gala  habiliments  of 
the  past.  They  sat  their  fine  horses  in  Mexican  saddles  which 
were  in  themselves  marvels  of  old  and  curious  workmanship. 
A  like  cavalcade  in  Broadway  would  draw  out  the  town. 

"Next  in  order  came  the  Spanish  division,  men  and 
women  on  horseback,  and  nearly  fifty  strong.  It  was  evi- 
dent that  all  heirlooms  in  dress  had  been  rummaged  from 
their  receptacles  and  made  to  fit  the  descendants  of  remote 
ancestors.  It  would  be  hard  to  say  how  many  different  ages 
and  how  many  provinces  in  Spain  and  Mexico  were  repre- 
sented. 

"To  modern  eyes  the  picturesque  had  the  ascendency  over 
other  qualities,  but  all  welcomed  the  man  carrying  a  guitar. 
At  any  rate,  this  division  passed  all  too  quickly,  singing  an 
ancient  Spanish  song.  Close  upon  them  were  a  band  of  sol- 
diers clad  in  suits  of  antiquated  buff  jerkins,  armed  in  old 
Mexican  style  with  long  pikes  and  muskets  that  may  have 
been  formidable  once.  It  is  doubtful  whether  a  band  so  rep- 
resentative of  the  old  Spanish  element  will  ever  appear  on  the 
streets  of  an  American  town  again.  Years  hence  such  an  at- 
tempt will  be  more  of  a  masquerade  than  a  reproduction.  In 
this  instance  the  genuine  Spaniards  were  too  numerous  and 
their  traditions  too  recent  and  real  to  permit  impositions. 

"Many  Spaniards  and  native  Californians  not  in  costume 
now  followed,  and  then  came  an  old-fashioned  ox-cart,  dating 
back  a  century  and  drawn  by  oxen  yoked  by  the  horns.  With- 
in the  cart  was  a  wooden  plow  that  had  turned  some  of  the 
earliest  furrows  in  this  region,  and  would  have  been  equally 
satisfactory  at  the  time  of  Abraham.  In  this  age  of  inven- 
tion one  wonders  that  people  remained  satisfied  so  long  with 
such  primitive  methods  and  implements.  Appropriately  fol- 
lowing the  cart,  the  like  of  which  had  been  used  by  their 
ancestors,  came  the  shrunken  band  of  Mission  Indians,  the 
two  foremost  of  them  carrying  a  portrait,  draped  in  Spanish 
colors,  of  Padre  Junupero  Serra. 


SANTA  BARBARA  431 

"The  good  father  passed  away  centuries  ago,  and  the  In- 
dians he  sought  to  civilize  are  also  nearly  extinct,  but  the 
principles  which  actuated  him  have  redeemed  his  name  from 
forgetfulness  and  will  crown  it  with  increasing  honor. 

"The  half-dozen  Indians  were  chanting  some  wild  song 
of  their  own  when  the  fine  band  from  San  Luis  Obispo  struck 
up  and  the  wail-like  echo  of  the  past  was  lost.  Then  came 
another  significant  and  diminishing  company,  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic.  On  every  public  occasion  the  ranks 
are  thinner  and  the  hair  of  the  veterans  grayer.  They,  too, 
will  soon  leave  but  a  name,  but  it  will  not  be  forgotten. 

"Driving  away  sad,  if  not  gloomy  thoughts,  comes  now  a 
vision  of  beauty  and  youth;  the  joy  of  to-day  and  the  rich 
promise  of  the  future — an  indefinite  number  of  young  girls 
who,  in  their  two-wheeled  village  carts,  or  'tubs,'  as  the  Eng- 
lish term  them,  drew  forth  rapturous  applause.  Well  they 
might,  for  they  were  in  harmony  with  the  loveliness  of  the 
June-like  day.  Their  little  carts  had  been  transformed  into 
floral  bowers.  The  flowers  and  greenery  so  festooned  the 
horses  that  they  were  half-hidden,  while  wheels  within  wheels 
of  smilax,  roses,  geraniums,  daisies,  and  other  blossoms  re- 
volved in  unison  with  the  outer  circumferences.  Each  little 
cart  had  its  own  distinctive  character,  and  some  had  been 
decorated  with  rare  taste  and  originality.  Not  a  few  of 
the  girls  carried  parasols  constructed  entirely  of  roses,  or  of 
geraniums,  passion  flowers,  orange  blossoms,  etc.  Green- 
houses had  not  been  stripped  for  them,  nor,  indeed,  the  open 
gardens  from  which  they  had  been  taken.  Truly,  no  such 
visible  and  delightful  proof  could  have  been  given  to  our 
Northern  eyes  that  we  had  come  to  the  land  of  flowers.  Gar- 
dens, orange  trees  golden  with  fruit,  formed  the  background 
for  this  charming  part  of  the  procession,  while  beyond  and 
above  all  rose  the  grand  Santa  Ynez  Mountains,  softening 
their  rugged  outlines  with  half-veiling  mists. 

"Burlesque  followed  close  upon  beauty  in  the  form  of  an 
old  farm-cart  laden  with  the  coarser  vegetables  and  driven  by 
two  young  men  in  the  garb  of  ancient  females.  The  trades' 


432  SANTA  BARBARA 

procession  came  next,  and  spoke  well  for  the  business  of  the 
city,  but  our  eyes  soon  dwelt  lovingly  on  over  a  hundred 
school  children,  who  made,  by  their  unrestrained  laughter, 
the  sweetest  music  of  the  day,  while  two  little  girls  riding  on 
one  much-bedecked  donkey  caused  ripples  of  merriment  as 
they  passed. 

"A  cavalcade  of  carriages  and  of  ladies  and  gentlemen 
on  horseback  seemed  about  to  close  the  procession,  when  there 
appeared  one  of  the  most  interesting  features  yet  seen — a 
train  of  pack  mules,  not  merely  illustrating  the  former 
method  of  transportation,  but  that  employed  to-day  by  the 
owner  of  the  train.  I  hastened  to  the  director,  whose  dress 
indicated  a  rude  mountaineer,  and  expected  a  half  intelligi- 
ble reply  from  a  Spaniard.  The  accent  of  his  first  word  led 
me  to  scan  his  delicate  Anglo-Saxon  features.  I  eventually 
learned  that  he  was  a  New  Yorker,  a  member  of  one  of  its 
best-known  families,  and  not  a  native  of  a  little-known  wil- 
derness. 

"Nevertheless  he  is  a  mountaineer.  Dressed  for  a  Fifth 
Avenue  company  one  would  not  suspect  it,  his  form  is  so 
slight  and  complexion  so  fair.  Dudes  would  not  be  abashed 
at  his  presence,  yet  they  would  expire  under  one  day  of  his 
experiences. 

"Only  by  a  mule  train,  led  over  a  scarcely  practicable 
trail,  can  he  reach  his  distant  ranch,  that  is  forty-five  miles 
back  in  the  heart  of  the  mountains.  Here,  with  another 
young  man,  a  kindred  spirit,  he  cares  for  an  increasing  herd 
of  cattle,  and  if  necessary  is  ready  to  protect  it  from  wild 
animals.  The  grazing  grounds  are  far  within  a  region  about 
as  wild  as  it  ever  has  been.  How  about  the  young  men  who 
whine  when  they  can  find  nothing  to  do  ? 

"The  interest  of  the  two  closing  days  of  the  festival  cen- 
tred at  the  racecourse  and  at  the  pavilion.  The  chief  attrac- 
tions at  the  former  place  were  to  be  seen  on  Tuesday,  and  they 
were  of  a  mixed  character.  We  were  treated  to  what  would 
seem  to  be  a  rather  rare  phenomenon  in  Santa  Barbara — a 
genuine  Indian  summer  day  of  the  warmest  type,  as  we 


SANTA   BARBARA  433 

know  it  at  the  East.  A  haze  partly  obscured  the  Santa  Ynez 
Mountains,  softened  the  outlines  of  the  foothills  and  blended 
the  ocean  with  the  sky.  The  air  was  soft  and  balmy  in  the 
extreme,  but  one  soon  detected  a  slight  chill  in  the  shade. 
All  sorts  of  vehicles,  from  stages  of  unwieldy  height,  open 
barouches,  farmers'  wagons  of  all  descriptions,  top  buggies, 
down  to  the  numerous  little  two-wheeled  carts,  rapidly  con- 
verged toward  the  judges'  stand.  As  on  all  gala  occasions 
here,  however,  the  number  on  horseback  was  very  large,  the 
ladies  sitting  their  horses  with  perfect  ease  and  grace.  Not 
a  few,  like  myself,  were  content  to  trudge  to  the  rendezvous 
on  foot.  The  grand  stand  was  soon  crowded,  and  the  vast, 
restless  concourse  stretched  far  to  the  right  and  left  on  either 
side  of  the  racetrack.  The  horsemanship  of  the  Spaniards 
could  only  be  surpassed  by  the  fine  action  of  their  steeds,  and 
all  lovers  of  this  noblest  of  animals  must  have  been  delighted. 
In  the  effort  to  show  how  wild  cattle  were  lassoed,  thrown, 
and  branded  there  appeared  to  be  too  much  needless  cruelty, 
and  when  a  miserable  little  bull  was  tormented  into  savage- 
ness,  and  the  semblance  of  a  bull-fight  took  place,  scores  of 
people  turned  away  in  disgust. 

"The  finest  equestrianism  could  not  redeem  the  scene  from 
brutality.  The  victims  were  the  wretched  bull,  a  fine  inno- 
cent horse  badly  gored,  and  the  people  who  could  not  endure 
to  see  animals  suffer  needlessly.  So  also  in  the  afternoon 
great  skill  was  undoubtedly  manifested  in  lassoing  the  feet 
of  the  wild  broncho  horses,  and  in  the  process  of  subduing 
them,  yet  one  pitied  the  poor  creatures  too  greatly  for  enjoy- 
ment and  soon  turned  away.  The  helpless  beasts  were  checked 
in  full  career,  often  thrown  upon  their  heads,  turning  a  com- 
plete somersault.  One  animal,  I  was  told,  broke  its  neck  in 
the  operation,  and  so  escaped  further  suffering.  Such  scenes, 
no  doubt,  illustrated  much  that  was  common  in  the  life  of  the 
early  settlers,  but  happily  it  is  a  past  phase,  and  will  scarcely 
be  reproduced  again  in  this  region. 

"It  was  interesting  to  observe  the  many  types  of  people 
in  festival  costume,  the  Indian  in  his  blanket,  the  Spaniard 
B— S— XVIII 


434  SANTA   BARBARA 

wearing  the  broad  sombrero,  and  the  belle  from  New  York 
reflecting  the  latest  mode.  There  was  movement,  light,  color, 
vivacity,  and  excitement. 

"Every  moment  or  two  the  eye  caught  glimpses  of  swift, 
spirited  horses  and  their  graceful  riders,  and  yet  one's  glance 
was  often  lured  from  it  all  to  the  grand,  mist-veiled  moun- 
tains beyond.  Many  of  the  scenes  and  objects  at  the  pavil- 
ion were  very  interesting  to  our  foreign  eyes  and  ears.  Here 
Spanish  and  American  life  met  and  mingled  in  a  far  more 
agreeable  way.  Several  ladies  had  taken  charge  of  the  large 
building,  erected  for  horticultural  purposes,  and  by  the  aid 
of  greenery,  flowers,  flags,  and  a  blending  of  Spanish  and 
American  colors,  had  transformed  the  spacious  interior  into 
a  decorated  hall  well  fitted  for  a  festival.  In  the  centre  of 
the  hall  rose  a  flower  stand  suggesting  Moorish  architecture, 
its  arches  making  fitting  frames  for  the  young  girls  within. 
One  might  buy  flowers,  but  his  eye  lingered  rather  on  the  fair 
flower-girls  in  their  charming  costumes.  Among  the  booths 
was  one  in  which  some  Spanish  ladies  had  kindly  permitted 
to  be  exhibited  some  of  their  ancient  treasures — velvet  man- 
tles, embroidered  shawls,  etc.  Even  to  masculine  eyes  they 
were  marvellously  beautiful,  rich,  and  intricate  in  their  de- 
signs. The  ladies  stood  before  them  with  clasped  hands  and 
expressed  themselves  in  exclamation  points.  The  chief  at- 
traction, however,  was  the  stage,  on  which  were  tableaux  and, 
above  all,  the  genuine  Spanish  fandango.  One  of  the  dances 
was  a  waltz,  with  an  intricate  figure  which  you  felt  might  go 
on  forever,  and  that  you  could  look  on  a  good  part  of  the  time. 
At  first  it  struck  one  as  merely  simple,  graceful,  and  very 
slow,  and  guided  by  monotonous  music ;  but  while  you  looked 
and  listened  a  fascination  grew  upon  you  hard  to  account  for. 
The  oft-repeated  strain  began  to  repeat  itself  in  your  mind; 
you  felt  rather  than  saw  how  it  controlled  the  leisurely  glid- 
ing figures — for  there  is  no  hopping  in  the  Spanish  dances — 
until  at  last,  in  fancy,  you  were  moving  with  them  in  perfect 
time  and  step.  In  brief,  the  dance  had  the  effect  of  a  strain 
of  music  which,  when  first  heard,  is  not  at  all  striking,  yet  is 


SANTA  BARBARA  435 

soon  running  in  your  head  as  if  it  had  a  spell  not  easily 
broken.  On  the  programme  the  dance  was  entitled  'Contra 
Danza.'  Later  a  Spaniard  who  has  a  wide  local  reputation, 
I  believe,  appeared  in  what  was  termed  'Son-jarabe.'  He 
certainly  left  nothing  to  be  desired  in  his  performance  after 
his  fashion,  but  the  grace  of  the  lady  who  accompanied  was 
inimitable.  From  my  somewhat  distant  point  of  view  she 
appeared  to  be  dressed  in  a  simple  black  gown  and  wore  no 
ornaments.  She  needed  none.  No  bespangled  dancer  I  ever 
saw  so  enchained  my  eyes.  One  would  almost  think  that  an 
orange,  placed  upon  her  head,  would  not  fall  off,  and  yet  a 
more  utter  absence  of  stiffness  in  movement  was  never  wit- 
nessed. She  seemed  ever  approaching,  yet  ever  receding 
from,  her  companion ;  a  moment  near,  then  far  away,  gliding 
to  one  side  or  the  other,  as  if  impossible  to  be  reached  in  her 
coquetry  of  elusive  grace.  Each  separate  movement  was 
called  out  in  Spanish,  and  in  a  varied,  half-musical  accent 
not  easily  described. 

"At  the  closing  centennial  ball  like  dances  were  repeated, 
the  participants  wearing  Spanish  costumes.  Here  we  had 
a  nearer  and  more  distinct  view  of  the  fandango.  We  again 
saw  the  'Contra  Danza,'  and  another,  even  more  intricate, 
that  was  as  odd  as  it  was  full  of  grace  and  unexpected  action. 
If  'La  Jota'  is  an  old  dance,  it  should  certainly  take  the  place 
of  many  that  have  little  to  redeem  them  from  commonplace, 
if  not  worse. 

"Son-jarabe  was  again  repeated  to  the  pleasure  of  all,  and 
especially  of  the  Spaniards,  who,  in  conformance  with  an  old 
custom,  expressed  their  satisfaction  by  raining  silver  down 
upon  the  floor  from  the  gallery.  There  was  the  same  weird 
intoning  by  the  master  of  ceremonies,  calling  off  the  different 
measures ;  the  same  constantly  recurring  strains  of  music  that 
haunted  one  long  afterward,  and  the  same  slow  yet  singularly 
graceful  movement  of  the  dancers.  All  were  in  Spanish  cos- 
tume, although  many  American  young  men  and  maidens  were 
also  participants,  yet  had  been  taught  so  well  by  their  Span- 
ish friends  that  they  were  scarcely  to  be  distinguished  from 


436  SANTA  BARBARA 

them.  The  Spanish  dances  that  I  saw  did  not  strike  me  as 
at  all  voluptuous,  and  no  one  appeared  who  was  not  dressed 
in  accordance  with  the  strictest  ideas  of  decorum.  The  whole 
pageant  passed  away  with  the  ball,  and  nothing  remains  to  re- 
mind us  of  the  centennial  but  the  green  arch  spanning  State 
Street.  The  old  Mission  stands  out  gray  and  silent,  except 
that  its  bells  occasionally  chime  out  for  reasons  unknown 
to  me." 

Writing  again,  in  April,  my  brother  describes  the  change 
wrought  by  the  first  heavy  rainfall  of  the  season. 

"One  of  the  drawbacks  to  Santa  Barbara  is  the  dust,  and 
it  is  a  disagreeable  accompaniment  of  a  dry  climate  which 
must  be  accepted.  Toward  the  end  of  January  there  were 
occasionally  high,  gusty  winds  which  reminded  one  of  March 
experiences  at  home.  At  times  the  dust  rose  in  clouds  and 
obscured  the  city,  and  to  my  taste  the  wildest  snowstorm 
would  be  preferable  to  these  chilling,  stifling  tempests.  They 
were  not  frequent  or  long  continued,  however,  and  the  old  in- 
habitants said  they  presaged  rain,  the  great  bounty  for  which 
the  whole  State  was  longing. 

"A  rainless  winter  is  a  terrible  misfortune,  and  when 
February  finds  the  ground  hard  and  dry  there  is  deep  and 
natural  anxiety. 

"In  one  dry  season,  years  ago,  forty  thousand  head  of 
cattle  perished.  With  present  means  of  communication  this 
probably  would  not  happen  again,  but  a  check  would  be  given 
to  budding  prosperity  which  would  take  several  fruitful  years 
to  overcome.  There  were  scores  of  people  hesitating  whether 
to  buy  or  build  who  would  decide  favorably  if  the  usual  rain- 
fall occurred.  When,  therefore,  on  the  5th  the  first  storm 
of  the  season  set  in,  rejoicing  and  congratulations  were  gen- 
eral. Seldom  before  have  I  so  realized  what  a  heavenly 
bounty  rain  is.  The  whole  population  were  hoping,  wait- 
ing, longing,  and  one  would  be  callous  indeed  not  to  sym- 
pathize. For  that  matter,  the  interests  of  temporary  visitors 
were  also  deeply  involved,  as  may  be  illustrated  by  the  pleas- 


SANTA  BARBARA  437 

Tire  I  had  in  watching  from  my  study  window  the  bare,  brown 
foothills  become  greener  daily.  With  intervals,  designed,  it 
would  seem,  to  give  the  parched  earth  time  to  take  in  the 
precious  moisture,  the  rains  continued  for  about  ten  days. 
At  last  there  was  a  steady  downpour  for  nearly  twenty-four 
hours,  and  then  dawned  a  morning  that  for  brightness,  clear- 
ness, and  beauty  left  nothing  to  be  imagined.  The  birds  were 
fairly  ecstatic  in  their  rejoicings  and  nature  seemed  to  be 
tripping  forth  like  a  young  girl  to  her  work.  It  may  be  that 
she  will  have  to  perfect  most  of  the  products  of  the  earth 
without  another  drop  of  rain,  and  she  will  prove  equal  to  the 
task. 

"A  fruitful  year  in  this  section  does  not  depend  on  sea- 
sonable storms  and  showers,  as  with  us,  but  upon  the  number 
of  inches  of  the  winter  rainfall,  the  soil  retaining  sufficient 
moisture  to  carry  the  crops  through  in  safety.  Many  tour- 
ists came  in  the  height  of  the  storm,  and  some  had  a  hard 
time  of  it.  The  hotels  were  crowded,  and  not  a  few,  mis- 
erably seasick,  were  driven  from  house  to  house  in  pouring 
rain  searching  for  rooms.  Except  on  State  Street  the  high- 
ways of  the  city  are  little  more  than  country  roads,  the  bot- 
tom of  which,  as  in  Virginia,  seems  to  have  fallen  out  One 
stage-load  was  spilled  into  the  mud  and  no  doubt  carried  away 
sinister  memories  of  'sunny  Santa  Barbara.'  The  weather, 
which  was  the  salvation  of  the  country,  was  well  anathema- 
tized by  transient  visitors,  and  one  lady  was  overheard  to  re- 
mark that  she  had  seen  the  first  of  the  place  and  hoped  that 
she  had  seen  the  last.  Thus  judgments  and  opinions  are 
formed.  Those  who  remained  and  saw  the  exquisite  phases 
of  spring  rapidly  developing  under  the  vivid  sunshine  would 
be  in  no  hurry  to  see  the  last  of  Santa  Barbara,  and  a  more 
perfect  summer  morning  has  rarely  been  seen  than  dawned 
on  the  last  day  of  the  month." 


438  RETURN   TO    CORNWALL-LETTERS 


CHAPTER  XII 

BETIJBN    TO    COENWALL LETTEES 

I  SPENT  the  summer  of  1887  with  Edward  and  his  family 
at  Santa  Barbara;  and  he  left  me  there  in  September 
on  his  return  to  his  home  at  Cornwall.  He  expected  to 
come  back  during  the  winter  of  1889 ;  and  just  a  week  be- 
fore his  sudden  death,  while  I  was  at  the  Western  Chautau- 
qua,  near  Monterey,  I  had  my  last  letter  from  him,  telling  of 
his  plans  for  a  California  story  which  he  hoped  to  write  when 
once  more  at  Santa  Barbara. 

That  evening,  Major-General  O.  O.  Howard  gave  a  lec- 
ture upon  the  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  and  at  its  close  I  had 
some  conversation  with  him,  in  the  course  of  which  I  spoke 
of  the  letter  just  received.  He  had  been  well  acquainted 
with  my  brother  at  West  Point.  I  remember  his  saying  at 
this  time:  "I  gave  a  copy  of  'A  Knight  of  the  Nineteenth 
Century'  to  a  young  man  about  whose  course  of  life  I  felt 
great  anxiety,  and  that  book,  he  wrote  me,  was  the  means  of 
his  entire  reformation." 

This  is  but  one  of  many  similar  instances  that  came  be- 
fore me  personally  during  my  sojourn  in  the  West. 

At  the  time  of  Edward's  departure  from  Santa  Barbara 
he  had  engaged  to  write  a  story  for  "Harper's  Magazine" 
which  should  be  a  sequel  to  "Nature's  Serial,"  and  which  was 
to  be  fully  illustrated  by  Mr.  William  Hamilton  Gibson.  It 
was  therefore  necessary  for  him  to  be  near  the  scenes  of  his 
proposed  story  and  in  easy  communication  with  Mr.  Gibson. 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  to  print  here  the  following 
letters.  Many  of  them  are  separated  by  long  intervals  of 
time  and  have  no  direct  connection  with  each  other,  but  they 


RETURN   TO   CORNWALI^-LETTERS  489 

are  expressive  of  the  warm  friendship  that  existed  between 
my  brother  and  the  talented  artist. 

"SANTA  BARBARA,  July  17,  1887. 

"My  DEAB  ME.  GIBSON  : — The  longer  I  remain  here 
and  the  more  I  see  of  this  region  the  of tener  I  think  of  you : 
and  the  more  earnestly  I  am  bent  on  your  coming  here  with 
your  sketch-book. 

"The  scenery  is  just  in  your  line,  yet  different  from  any- 
thing you  have  yet  done.  Phew !  what  a  book  we  could  make 
together  out  here.  During  the  past  week  Mrs.  Roe  and  I  went 
over  the  Santa  Ynez  Mountains,  and  I  wished  for  you  at 
every  turn  of  the  San  Marcus  Pass.  Then  there  are  scores  of 
these,  with  beautiful  canyons.  But  I  will  tell  you  about  them 
in  September,  when  I  hope  to  see  you. 

"I  expect  to  give  much  of  September  and  all  of  October 
to  the  study  of  the  Highlands,  and  only  wish  you  can  so  ar- 
range as  to  be  with  me  as  much  as  possible. 

"I've  been  toiling  over  the  Earthquake  story,  and  while 
you  and  the  critics  will  say  it  is  no  great  'shakes/  I  shall  have 
to  remember  how  the  mountain  labored.  I  have  at  least  a 
month's  more  work  upon  it,  and  am  giving  up  the  whole  of 
my  time  to  it,  now  that  I  am  in  the  mood  for  writing. 

"How  are  you  enjoying  the  summer,  and  are  you  very 
busy? 

"Lucky  you  did  not  get  into  that  fight  with  the  Park 
Commissioners  during  your  July  heats.  If  you  had  there 
would  have  been  some  'ha'r  lifted,'  as  they  say  out  on  the 
plains.  You  would  make  a  better  subject  for  a  scalping-knif e 
than  I.  Have  you  seen  much  of  Mr.  Alden?  He  sent  me 
two  fine  photographs  of  himself  recently. 

"I  trust  that  Mrs.  Gibson  and  the  boy  are  keeping  well 
through  the  intense  heat  of  which  we  read  in  the  papers. 
This  climate  surpasses  anything  I  ever  imagined.  We  have 
had  but  one  hot  day  thus  far.  July  has  been  delightfully 
cool,  about  the  same  as  last  December,  with  the  exception 
that  the  evenings  and  nights  are  a  little  warmer.  The  sea- 


440  RETURN   TO   CORNWALL— LETTERS 

bathing  is  superb.     Mrs.  Koe  and  all  five  children  are  enjoy- 
ing it  this  afternoon.  "Yours  sincerely, 

"E.  P.  ROE." 

"WASHINGTON,  CONN.,  September,  1887. 

"Hurrah !  Hurrah !  Welcome  home,  one  and  all !  Such 
is  the  burden  of  my  emotions  as  I  read  in  to-day's  paper  that 
Mr.  Roe,  the  Roemanser,  has  returned  to  civilization  from 
the  Santa  Barbarans,  and  is  once  more  at  'Shanty  Clear.' 

"Seriously,  I  am  immensely  delighted  that  you  are  once 
more  with  us,  and  shall  look  forward  to  an  early  meeting. 
And  now  apropos — we,  my  wife  and  I,  have  enjoyed  many  a 
memorable  season  of  pleasure  at  your  country  home.  Can 
we  not  persuade  you  and  Mrs.  Roe  to  give  us  a  visit  at  ours  \ 
for  here  is  my  favorite  camping  ground  and  my  home  acre. 
As  soon  as  you  feel  sufficiently  rested  from  your  trip,  and 
providing  you  are  so  disposed,  will  you  make  us  happy  by 
spending  a  few  days  with  us  ? — that  is  if  you  still  remember 
your  neglectful  correspondent  and  care  to  hobnob  with  him 
as  of  yore. 

"That  proposed  Highland  trip  is  immensely  tempting,  and 
I  shall  hope  to  arrange  to  take  a  few  days  outing  with  you, 
but  alas !  it  cannot  be  until  early  November  or  the  very  last 
of  October.  I  am  so  full  of  obligations  until  then. 

"Don't  call  this  a  letter.  It  is  written  in  the  face  of  a 
yawning  mail-bag  and  must  be  judged  accordingly. 

"Your  sincere  friend, 

"GIBSON." 

Mr.  Gibson's  own  work  was  so  pressing  that  autumn  that 
he  was  unable  to  spare  the  time  for  the  Highland  trip  men- 
tioned in  his  letter,  when  many  of  the  sketches  were  to  be 
made  for  the  projected  story.  The  remaining  letters  are 
from  my  brother  to  Mr.  Gibson. 

"December  15,  1880. 

"Some  one  rang  at  my  door  to-day — he  must  be  nigh  of 
kin  to  Santa  Glaus — and  left  your  superb  volume.  It  almost 
took  away  my  breath. 


RETURN    TO    CORNWALL— LETTERS  441 

"I  gave  you  'Small  Fruits'  only.  But  the  fruits  of  your 
pencil  and  pen  are  the  reverse  of  small. 

"Do  you  realize  what  a  benefactor  you  are  in  sending  me, 
on  this  dull  cloudy  day,  exquisites  of  the  finest  seasons  of  the 
year?  Spring  is  months  away,  but  I  have  had  the  sweetest 
glimpse  of  spring  beside  my  winter  fire.  The  blazing  wood 
supplied  the  warmth — and  your  fancy  did  the  rest  in  repro- 
ducing June. 

"I  am  deeply  in  your  debt.  Draw  on  me  for  unlimited 
quantities  of  strawberries." 

"April  16,  1882. 

"I  was  determined  to  find  you  a  four-leaf  clover,  and  yes- 
terday I  succeeded. 

"It  will  bring  you  no  end  of  good  luck." 

"January  31,  1884. 

"Don't  worry  when  you  are  not  in  writing  condition.  If 
needful  you  can  drop  a  postal  now  and  then.  The  best  way 
is  to  come  up  Saturday  night  and  have  a  talk.  You  need  a 
little  change  and  mountain  air. 

"I  am  writing  by  this  mail  for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dielman  to 
come  at  the  same  time.  Why  would  it  not  be  a  good  plan  to 
get  together  and  talk  over  the  completion  of  the  story  and 
take  a  sleigh  ride  ? 

"You  have  no  idea  how  a  little  change  freshens  one  up, 
and  if  you  can  spend  Sunday  and  Monday  we  will  all  have 
a  country  frolic.  I  need  one  myself.  I  have  been  over- 
working and  was  very  ill  from  nervous  trouble  for  a  few 
days.  I  went  right  to  Nature,  tramped  and  rode  in  the  open 
air.  So  come  Saturday  by  all  means,  for  we  all  want  to  see 
you. 

"Beautiful  red-pine  grosbeaks  are  feeding  about  the 
piazza  like  chickens.  With  your  powers  you  could  go  and 
pick  them  up." 

"December  13,  1884. 

"I  should  have  written  to  you  or  seen  you  before,  but  I 
have  been  working  hard  to  get  the  (St.  Nicholas'  serial  well 
advanced. 


i-12  RETURN    TO    CORNWALL— LETTERS 

"My  heart  is  in  the  continuation  of  'Nature's  Serial.' 
Take  the  press  generally,  that  book  is  being  received  remark- 
ably well.  I  tell  you  frankly  my  aim  now  is  to  prepare  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  books  that  has  ever  been  published  in 
this  country.  From  what  Dielman  has  said  I  have  no  doubt 
but  that  he'll  go  in  with  me.  I  also  mentioned  Mr.  Frost  to 
Alden  and  I  shall  also  go  see  Mrs.  Foote.  It  is  possible  sh0 
may  be  willing  to  take  a  part  of  the  illustrations. 

"But  I  shall  be  heartbroken  if  you  cannot  take  the  part 
of  Hamlet  in  the  performance.  If  you  will,  you  can  make 
old  Cro'nest  and  Storm  King  your  monuments,  and  few  will 
pass  up  or  down  the  river  without  mentioning  your  name. 

"I  shall  begin  to  make  my  studies  in  January.  In  the 
meantime  it  will  be  a  summer  story,  although  I  expect  to 
close  it  at  Christmas,  and  it  will  be  full  of  just  such  material 
as  suits  your  pencil. 

"I  would  like  at  least  four  illustrations  for  each  number, 
as  many  full-paged  as  possible. 

"Mrs.  Roe  joins  me  in  regards  to  Mrs.  Gibson." 

"December  29,  18P4. 

"What  can  I  say  to  you  ?  How  make  you  appreciate  how 
greatly  we  appreciate  and  value  your  beautiful  remembrance  ? 
We  all  went  into  ecstasies  over  the  picture,  which  arrived  in 
perfect  safety.  It  should  have  gone  into  the  book  if  I  had 
seen  it  before,  and  had  had  any  influence.  As  it  is,  it  rounds 
out  'Nature's  Serial'  to  my  mind,  and  leaves  it  a  past  experi- 
ence without  alloy,  except  as  I  remember  the  imperfection  of 
my  own  work.  Can  you  wonder  at  my  desire  to  be  at  work 
with  you  again  some  day? 

"But  we  will  leave  that  for  the  present,  as  you  say,  I 
living  in  hopes  that  the  way  will  open  for  you  to  explore  the 
Highlands  with  me,  and  to  reveal  their  beauties  to  the  public 
far  better  than  I  can.  You  see  Nature  as  I  do,  only  you  in- 
terpret it  to  me,  and  make  it  more  beautiful  than  the  reality 
appears. 

"I  will  have  the  picture  framed  as  you  suggest,  and  when 


RETURN    TO   CORNWALL— LETTERS  443 

you  soon  come  to  Cornwall  again  it  will  greet  you  from  an 
honored  place  in  our  parlor. 

"Mrs.  Roe  and  the  girls,  with  our  guests,  were  as  greatly 
pleased  as  myself. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Drake  also  sent  us  a  beautiful  bit  of  art. 
I  am  just  delighted  with  the  way  Mr.  Drake  is  taking  hold  of 
my  'St.  Nicholas'  serial.  I  send  the  magazine  for  the  year 
to  W.  H.  Gibson,  Jr. 

"You  did  indeed  win  a  victory  over  the  'incrementitious' 
critic.  I  should  think  he  would  wish  to  crawl  into  a  small  hole, 
and  'pull  the  hole  in  after  him.'  Indeed  you  are  triumphing 
over  all  your  critics,  and  winning  your  rightful  place.  I 
knew  this  would  be  true  years  ago,  because  of  your  own  truth 
to  Nature. 

"Such  an  experience  may  never  come  to  me,  probably 
because  I  do  not  deserve  it,  but  I  am  content  to  make  some 
warm  friends,  like  the  writer  of  the  enclosed  letter.  If  what 
some  of  my  critics  say  is  true,  a  good  many  people  who  write 
and  speak  to  me  are  awful  and  unnecessary  liars. 

"I  enjoyed  your  triumph  as  greatly  as  if  it  were  my  own. 
It  was  the  neatest  thrust  under  the  fifth  rib  I  ever  saw,  and  I 
fear  I  shall  never  have  enough  Christian  meekness  not  to  en- 
joy seeing  a  fellow  receive  his  conge  when  so  well  deserved. 
Dr.  Abbott  and  I  took  part  in  the  'wake'  up  here. 

"That  the  coming  year  may  be  the  most  prosperous  and 
happy  that  you  and  yours  have  ever  known  is  the  wish  of 
your  sincere  friend." 

"February  17,  1885. 

"I  have  made  arrangements  with  the  best  guide  of  the 
Highlands,  one  who  knows  every  lake,  pond,  road,  peak,  man, 
woman,  child  and  dog  in  the  mountains. 

"We  start  out  on  our  first  explorations  the  latter  part  of 
May,  when  Nature  is  in  her  loveliest  mood.  Say  you'll  go. 
— I  think  the  whole  serial  can  be  finished  by  October.  You 
and  Mrs.  Gibson  can  get  excellent  board  at  Cornwall.  Thus 
you  will  identify  yourself  with  the  Hudson  as  you  have  with 
New  England.  I  expect  by  then  to  have  finished  my  'St. 


444  RETURN   TO   CORNWALL— LETTERS 

Nicholas'   story  and  then  will  have  the  decks  cleared  for 
action.     Our  regards  to  Mrs.  Gibson  and  the  baby." 

''March  18,  1885. 

"I  went  down  to  attend  Mr.  Cyrus  Field's  reception.  The 
trains  were  so  delayed  that  I  was  nearly  all  day  getting  to  the 
city. 

"Well,  I  met  Mr.  Stoddard,  and  spent  a  pleasant  hour 
with  him  at  the  Century  Club  on  the  evening  of  March  7th. 
He  asked  to  be  introduced  to  me,  and  I  remarked  'that  I  was 
surprised  that  he  would  take  such  a  literary  sinner  by  the 
hand.'  He  replied,  'We  are  a  pair  of  them.'  We  chatted 
pleasantly  a  few  moments  in  the  supper-room,  and  then  he 
concluded,  'Well,  you  are  a  good  fellow  to  forgive  me.' 

"Some  time  after  he  asked  me  to  go  upstairs  with  him, 
and  we  had  a  smoke  together.  I  introduced  him  to  Colonel 
Michee  of  West  Point,  who  is  about  to  publish  a  book. 

"Stoddard  gave  me  his  autograph  unsolicited,  written 
with  his  left  hand  and  then  backwards.  I  told  him  that  I 
was  glad  he  appreciated  you.  We  had  a  long,  merry  talk, 
and  in  his  conversation  he  said  he  would  be  very  glad  to  have 
a  copy  of  'Nature's  Serial'  with  your,  Dielman's,  and  my 
autographs.  This  request  was  wholly  unsuggested,  and  he 
truly  appeared  to  wish  the  book.  Therefore,  when  you  are 
at  Harper's  will  you  write  your  name  on  the  fly-leaf,  and 
then  ask  them  to  express  the  book  to  me?  I  will  get  Diel- 
man's autograph.  Altogether  it  was  a  spicy  interview.  I 
received  that  eulogy  of  your  work  in  the  Boston  paper,  and 
had  said  the  same  in  substance  to  two  or  three  of  Harper's 
firm  before." 

"September  16,  1887. 

"Your  hat  in  the  air  was  almost  as  inspiring  as  the  sight 
of  old  Storm  King. 

"It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  welcomed,  and  the  day  after 
my  arrival  I  had  to  shake  hands  with  nearly  every  man, 
woman  and  child,  white  and  black,  that  I  met. 

"Mrs.  Roe  took  cold  before  we  started  on  the  long  trip, 


RETURN   TO   CORNWALL— LETTERS  445 

and  has  been  very  ill;  is  so  yet,  though  she  is  gaining  now 
steadily.     I  do  not  know  when  I  can  see  you. 

"I  long  for  the  quiet  of  home  life.  It  will  require  a 
sheriff  and  his  posse  to  get  me  out  of  the  house  again.  Put 
down  your  promise  to  visit  me  and  tramp  the  Highlands  in 
big  capitals.  If  you  should  be  in  town  and  have  a  spare 
night  come  up  here  for  a  smoke  and  talk." 

"January  1,  1888. 

"Thanks  for  your  letter.     It  was  almost  as  long  as  mine. 

"I  spent  most  of  'watch-night'  on  old  Storm  King  with 
my  children  and  Mr.  Denton.  We  expected  some  other 
friends,  who  were  detained  by  the  storm.  Coasting  in  a  snow- 
storm proved  very  agreeable  after  all,  especially  as  the  road 
was  lined  with  torches.  The  sleighs  went  like  express  trains, 
and  I  was  glad  to  get  all  safe  home  to  the  oyster  supper  which 
Mrs.  Roe  had  ready  for  us  as  the  old  year  took  its  departure. 

"I  have  amused  myself  in  watching  old  Storm  King,  that 
in  the  wild  rain  has  been  taking  on  many  aspects.  We  have 
had  a  sort  of  family  holiday  with  the  few  friends  coming  and 
going,  and  I  have  enjoyed  all,  seeing  the  children  have  a  good 
time. 

"I  have  had  so  much  work  on  hand  that  I  had  to  keep 
busy  the  greater  part  of  each  day. 

"I  suppose  your  little  boy  has  enjoyed  the  season  im- 
mensely. Does  he  still  believe  in  Santa  Claus,  or  have  you 
and  Mrs.  Gibson,  in  the  interest  of  truth  (see  discussion  in 
papers),  felt  bound  to  explain  that  you  filled  his  stocking  with 
articles  bought  at  a  certain  store  ?  My  little  girl  is  still  con- 
sidering how  in  the  mischief  the  old  fellow  got  down  the 
chimney. 

"The  sleighing  is  all  gone.  When  it  comes  again  we  want 
you  and  Mrs.  Gibson  to  take  some  mountain  rides  with  us. 

"Happy  New  Year  to  you  all." 

But  other  literary  friends  besides  Mr.  Hamilton  Gibson 
were  welcome  guests  at  Edward's  Cornwall  home;  among 


446  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

them  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E.  H.  Stoddard,  Mr.  John  Bur- 
roughs, Mr.  Stedman,  Mr.  Alden,  of  "Harper's  Magazine," 
and  Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne. 


CHAPTER  XIH 

LAST    BOOK DEATH 

DURING  the  winter  of  1887-88  Edward  wrote  his  last 
book,  "Miss  Lou,"  a  tale  of  Southern  life  during 
the  Civil  War.  In  the  spring  he  went  down  to 
Virginia  to  visit  some  scenes  he  wished  to  describe,  and  while 
there  had  a  slight  attack  of  neuralgia  of  the  heart.  The 
physician  he  called  in  ordered  him  to  return  home  at  once, 
and  rest  for  a  time. 

In  June  he  seemed  to  have  completely  recovered  his 
health,  and  sent  his  usual  invitation  to  the  Philolethean  Club 
of  New  York  clergymen,  who  then  made  their  eighteenth 
and  last  visit. 

On  the  19th  of  July,  however,  my  brother  complained 
during  the  day  of  not  feeling  very  well,  although  he  walked 
about  the  grounds  inspecting  his  plants  as  was  his  custom. 
After  dinner,  in  the  evening,  he  sat  in  his  library  reading 
aloud  from  one  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne's  works  to  his 
daughter  and  one  of  her  young  friends.  Suddenly  he 
paused,  placed  his  hand  over  his  heart,  and  said,  "There 
comes  that  sharp  pain  again.  I  shall  have  to  go  upstairs  to 
my  wife  for  some  remedy."  But  he  left  the  room  with  a 
smile.  After  he  had  taken  the  remedy,  which  did  not  give 
relief,  his  wife  sent  in  haste  for  a  physician,  who  as  soon  as 
he  arrived  saw  there  was  no  hope  of  my  brother's  recovery. 
After  about  forty  minutes  of  extreme  agony,  Edward  seemed 
to  feel  relieved,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  attempted  to  cross  the 
room,  but  turned  quickly  toward  his  wife  with  a  look  of  sur- 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  447 

prise  and  joy,  exclaiming,  "Oh,  my  God !" — then  fell  lifeless 
to  the  floor. 

At  the  age  of  fifty,  in  the  full  vigor  of  manhood,  his 
earthly  career  came  to  an  end.  His  funeral  was  held  in  the 
little  church  at  Cornwall,  where  he  had  first  consecrated  his 
life  to  the  service  of  Christ,  and  where  he  and  his  family  had 
worshipped  for  so  many  years. 

Then  he  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  quiet  graveyard  on  a 
beautiful  knoll  overlooking  the  Hudson,  beside  his  parents 
and  his  own  baby  boy. 

Only  a  little  earlier  in  that  month,  and  just  three  weeks 
before  his  death,  Edward  invited  the  Authors'  Club,  of  which 
he  was  a  member,  to  spend  a  day  at  his  Highland  home. 

These  lines  were  written  in  acceptance  by  Mr.  E.  C.  Sted- 
man: — 

"Know'st  thou  the  bank  where  'Triumph  de  Gauds'  are  red 
(My  books  might  be  were  I  on  berries  fed) ; 
Where  Cro'nest  lowers  and  Hudson  laughs  below  it, 
And  welcome  waits  each  editor  or  poet? 
Know'st  thou  in  fact  the  realm  of  E.  P.  Roe? 
Hither,  0  hither,  will  I  go." 

I  insert  here  several  accounts  of  this  last  meeting,  written 
after  my  brother's  death  by  members  of  the  Club  who  were 
present. 

"I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  E.  P.  Roe  twice.  The 
first  time  was  in  May,  1888,  at  the  Authors'  Club  in  New 
York.  It  was  a  balmy  spring  evening.  I  had  strolled  into 
the  club-rooms  feeling  rather  lonesome  among  so  many 
strangers,  for  I  was  then  a  new  member  of  the  Club,  and, 
stopping  at  the  table  to  admire  a  great  basketful  of  apple- 
blossoms,  I  fell  into  conversation  with  a  tall,  fine-looking, 
genial-faced  gentleman,  who  told  me  that  he  had  just  brought 
the  flowers  down  from  his  farm  on  the  Hudson  for  'the  boys/ 
I  was  mentally  guessing  who  this  gentleman  with  the  noble 
brow  and  the  black  flowing  beard  could  be,  when  some  one 


448  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

approached  and  called  him  'Roe.'  We  were  soon  left  alone 
again,  and  I  hastened  to  say :  'Have  I  the  honor  of  speaking 
to  E.  P.  Roe  ?'  Placing  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  bending 
near  me  with  a  kindly  smile,  he  answered:  'I  am  E.  P.  Roe; 
and  may  I  ask  your  name?'  Finding  that  I  was  from  the 
South,  he  seemed  to  be  especially  glad  of  my  acquaintance, 
and  we  were  soon  off  in  a  corner,  seated  face  to  face,  he  ask- 
ing questions  fast,  and  with  the  greatest  interest,  and  I  an- 
swering to  the  best  of  my  ability,  concerning  the  war  history 
and  the  mountain  scenery  of  my  native  State.  He  was  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  get  at  the  exact  social  relation  between 
the  whites  and  blacks  at  the  close  of  the  war — especially  the 
feeling  of  the  blacks  toward  the  whites — with  a  view  of  mak- 
ing correct  statements  in  a  novel  that  he  thought  of  writing. 
Each  member  of  the  Club  soon  wore  an  apple-blossom 
boutonniere,  and  the  rooms  were  full  of  the  delicate  perfume 
of  these  delicious  flowers.  That  night,  on  leaving  the  Club, 
I  took  home  with  me  a  spray  of  the  blossoms,  and  put  it  in 
water,  and  on  the  following  day  it  shed  its  fragrance  for  the 
pleasure  of  one  who  was  then  an  invalid.  In  her  name  I 
wrote  Mr.  Roe  a  note  of  thanks  for  the  flowers,  and  I  re- 
ceived from  him  a  characteristic  reply.  He  wrote : — 

" '.  .  .  I  was  delighted  that  my  hastily  gathered  apple- 
blossoms  gave  such  pleasure  to  your  wife.  How  little  it  costs 
to  bestow  a  bit  of  brightness  here  and  there,  if  we  only  think 
about  doing  it  I' 

"The  Authors'  Club  was  invited  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Roe  to 
spend  Saturday,  the  16th  of  June,  at  their  home  near  Corn- 
wall-on-Hudson,  where  we  were  cordially  promised  a  feast 
of  strawberries  and  pleasant  outdoor  pastimes.  The  day  was 
a  perfect,  a  happy,  and  a  memorable  one  to  all  who  accepted 
the  hospitality  of  the  novelist.  He  met  us  at  the  river  land- 
ing with  a  hearty  hand-shake  and  a  word  of  welcome  for  each 
guest,  and  personally  conducted  us  to  carriages  which  had 
been  provided  to  convey  us  to  his  farmhouse,  which  we  soon 
found  to  be  an  ideal  home  of  unpretentious  elegance.  At 
luncheon  our  host  addressed  us,  begging  us  to  lay  aside  all 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  449 

formality,  and  get  all  the  pleasure  possible  from  his  fruits 
and  flowers,  green  grass  and  cooling  shade.  The  strawber- 
ries in  his  patch  were  enormous,  and  each  visitor  to  the  vines 
in  turn  found  Roe  at  his  side,  parting  the  leaves  for  him,  and 
showing  him  where  to  pick  the  finest  specimens.  He  was 
ubiquitous  that  day.  If  one  strolled  off  among  the  myriad 
roses,  and  stopped  to  pluck  a  bud,  he  found  the  shapely  hand 
of  the  farmer-author  pulling  for  him  a  more  beautiful  one. 
If  you  flung  yourself  on  the  grass  to  dream  awhile,  Roe  was 
lying  down  by  you,  telling  you  how  happy  this  union  of 
friends  made  him  feel. 

"The  day  wore  on  to  sunset,  when  a  dance,  to  the  music 
of  banjos,  was  improvised  on  the  lawn,  the  banjos  being 
played  by  some  handsome  youths  in  lawn-tennis  attire,  who, 
with  their  gayly  beribboned  instruments,  made  a  pretty 
scene.  Roe  clapped  his  hands  with  delight  as  he  moved  from 
group  to  group.  I  heard  him  say,  'How  often  will  I  recall 
this  scene!  I  can  bring  you  all  back  here  just  as  you  are 
now,  whenever  I  want  to.'  His  wife  and  daughters  were 
unceasing  in  gracious  attentions  to  their  guesta 

"When  the  time  for  parting  arrived,  and  the  carriages 
were  drawn  up,  Mr.  Roe  hurried  from  one  to  another  of  us, 
begging  each  and  all  not  to  go,  assuring  us  of  ample  accom- 
modation if  we  would  stay  over  night.  A  few  remained,  and 
those  who  left  did  so  reluctantly,  some  of  them,  I  am  sure, 
quite  sorrowfully.  I  remember  wondering  at  myself  for 
being  overcome  by  such  a  feeling  of  sadness  as  I  waved  the 
family  a  last  farewell  from  the  departing  carriage.  I  had  said 
good-by  to  the  famous  writer  as  we  came  down  the  broad  steps 
of  his  vine-covered  veranda,  he  with  his  arm  about  my  waist. 

"Never  lived  a  more  lovable  and  kindlier  man  than  E.  P. 
Roe ;  and  when,  soon  after  that  golden  day,  I  read  one  morn- 
ing of  his  sudden  death,  my  heart  welled  up  with  tears  over 
the  bereavement  of  that  stricken  household  in  the  shadow  of 
old  Storm  King ;  yet  I  felt  that  their  grief  must  be  illumined 
by  the  pure  light  that  hallowed  the  name  'of  him  who  uttered 
nothing  base.'  ELKOD  BUKKE." 


450  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

"I  fancy  there  are  few  of  those  active,  tireless  Ameri- 
cans, who,  nevertheless,  steal  time  from  their  business  to 
read  many  newspapers  and  many  books,  who  have  heard  of 
an  association  of  men  in  New  York  called  the  Authors'  Club. 
Authors,  in  their  eyes,  are  apt  to  seem  like  inhabitants  of  a 
world  apart,  a  world  separated  by  a  broad  boundary  from  the 
sphere  of  average  commercial  labor.  Authors  are,  as  it 
were,  abstractions;  they  are  heard  and  not  seen.  They  are 
heard  through  their  books,  which  are  the  concrete  essence  of 
themselves ;  yet  the  author  is,  after  all,  an  extremely  concrete 
personage,  who  strives  as  hard  as  anyone  for  his  living,  and 
whose  reward  is  seldom  commensurate  with  his  efforts.  It 
is  the  exceptional  great  man  of  literature — the  great  author 
being  a  better  illustration  than  the  small  one — who  is  lucky 
enough  to  enjoy  felicity  during  his  lifetime. 

"But  I  did  not  start  out  here  to  make  the  old  argument 
—which  has  been  so  often  a  fanciful  and  sentimental  argu- 
ment— against  literature  as  a  remunerative  profession.  My 
idea  was  a  simple  one :  To  assume  that  authors  are  more  gen- 
erally hidden  from  public  view  than  almost  any  other  class 
of  men,  and  that,  for  this  reason  especially,  the  least  import- 
ant bit  of  gossip  touching  the  private  doings,  goings  and  say- 
ings of  authors  interests,  without  question,  a  very  large  num- 
ber of  people.  The  writer  of  a  famous  novel  or  poem  may 
walk  the  length  of  Broadway,  yet  remain  absolutely  a 
stranger  to  the  crowd  among  whom  he  walks.  A  nobody  of 
a  politician  passing  over  the  same  space  would,  I  am  sure,  be 
liberally  recognized  as  a  somebody,  and  not  the  least  sort  of 
a  somebody  by  any  means.  The  stranger  to  the  crowd,  how- 
ever, the  author,  derives  practical  benefit  from  the  'charm  of 
mystery.'  To  be  at  once  celebrated  and  unknown  is  for  him 
a  desirable  condition.  His  books  are  read.  He  piques  curi- 
osity. What  more  could  he  ask  for  ? 

"The  Authors'  Club,  being  merely  an  association  of  au- 
thors, is  therefore  somewhat  outside  of  public  view.  Its  pecul- 
iar distinction  is  that  it  brings  together  various  men  whom 
the  world  honors,  and  a  few  more  whom  the  world  may  or 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  451 

may  not  learn  to  honor.  It  is  a  very  modest  little  Club,  pos- 
sibly with  a  very  large  future  before  it.  If  I  should  praise 
it  for  one  thing  heartily,  that  would  be  the  good  fellowship 
which  animates  it  and  which  has  permitted  it  to  thrive. 
Among  the  older  members  of  the  club — the  members  who 
actually  possess  reputation — are  Stoddard,  Stedman,  Curtis, 
Edward  Eggleston,  John  Hay,  M.  D.  Conway,  Mark  Twain, 
George  H.  Boker,  Henry  Drisler,  E.  P.  Roe,  Andrew  Car- 
negie, Henry  James,  E.  L.  Godkin,  Parke  Godwin,  S.  Weir 
Mitchell,  Noah  Brooks,  and  (in  an  honorary  sense)  J.  R. 
Lowell,  Holmes,  Whittier,  R.  L.  Stevenson  and  Harriet 
Beecher  Stowe.  The  younger  members  count  such  names 
as  Gilder,  Lathrop,  Bunner,  Boyesen,  Bishop,  Luska,  Will 
Carleton,  Rutton,  Matthews,  McMaster,  Miller,  Bronson 
Howard,  Mabie,  DeKay,  Boyle  O'Reilly,  Thorndike  Rice, 
and  others  hardly  less  well  known.  Of  all  the  men  whom  I 
just  mentioned  none  has  a  wider  reading  public  than  Edward 
P.  Roe,  some  of  whose  books  have  passed  through  twenty  or 
more  editions. 

"Mr.  Roe  is  one  of  those  authors  'who  make  money,' 
whose  writing  is  not  thrown  on  the  barren  soil  of  neglect. 
His  income  from  books  is  much  ampler,  I  believe,  than  the 
income  of  any  other  man  of  letters,  obtained  from  the  same 
source,  in  America.  Because  he  is  so  popular  he  does  not 
necessarily  possess  the  elements  of  greatness.  True  great- 
ness seldom  'makes  money.'  Even  brilliant  originality  in 
literature  has  a  comparatively  small  audience.  This  is  the 
line  of  logic,  since  the  finest  writing  appeals  only  to  the  finest 
minds,  and  the  latter  are  stray  blossomings  in  an  oasis  of  re- 
spectability. It  is  not,  in  the  circumstances,  difficult  to  ex- 
plain Mr.  Roe's  popularity.  He  tells  a  pleasant  story  with 
unaffected  simplicity;  he  is  always  on  the  side  of  conserva- 
tive feeling;  he  is  eager  to  help  men  and  women,  as  well  as 
to  amuse  them ;  he  is,  in  short,  the  most  earnest  and  effective 
representative  of  a  numerous  'home  gathering'  that  is  now 
writing  in  this  country.  Why,  then,  should  he  not  be  popu- 
lar ?  The  bold  or  merely  erratic  genius  of  distinctly  literary 


452  LAST  BOOK-DEATH 

writers  might  not  be  appreciated  or  comprehended  by  Mr. 
Roe's  public.  Even  so  aggressive  a  person  as  that  turbulent 
and  pyrotechnic  Frenchman,  Guy  de  Maupassant,  attacks  crit- 
icism in  a  way  which  should  be  a  lesson  to  Mr.  Roe's  least 
generous  critics.  Without  any  kind  of  preconception  or 
theory  M.  Maupassant  says :  'A  critic  should  understand,  dis- 
tinguish, and  explain  the  most  opposite  tendencies,  the  most 
contrary  temperaments,  and  admit  the  most  adverse  re- 
searches of  art.'  On  such  a  broad  basis  of  criticism  every 
admissible  popularity  may  be  fairly  accounted  for. 

"Mr.  Roe,  the  man,  is  an  exact  counterpart,  one  may  say, 
of  Mr.  Roe,  the  author.  As  an  author,  in  the  first  place,  he 
is  remarkably  candid.  He  has  been  so  candid,  indeed,  that 
the  tendency  of  certain  critics  to  treat  him  disingenuously  is 
rather  absurd.  These  critics  want  him  to  write  books,  appar- 
ently, which  he  does  not  propose  to  write ;  they  overlook  the 
fact  that  Mr.  Roe  has  stated  very  clearly  just  what  he  desires 
to  write.  In  a  preface  to  one  of  his  novels  he  says,  in  effect, 
that  if  his  books  are  not  beautiful  works  of  art  they  are  at 
least  books  which  tender  peace  and  resignation  to  many  lives. 
(I  am  not  quoting,  by  the  way,  but  am  presenting  the  idea 
which  must  have  been  in  Mr.  Roe's  mind  when  he  wrote  that 
preface.)  There  are  so  many  clever  books  published  nowa- 
days which  pervert  the  young  and  sensitive  conscience — a 
word  not  included  in  the  vocabulary  of  our  'disagreeably3  ar- 
tistic novelists — that  it  may  be  wise  to  accept  Mr.  Roe's  nov- 
els as  good  morality,  if  not  as  the  best  literature. 

"It  is  not  every  author  who  puts  himself  into  his  books. 
Drunkards  have  written  temperance  tracts.  Blackguards 
have  written  treatises  on  ideal  existence.  Posing  fops  have 
railed  against  the  hardships  which  beset  noble  ambition. 
Mr.  Roe  has  written  the  best  that  is  in  him  for  the  best  that 
is  in  thousands  of  men  and  women.  I  have  tried  to  indicate 
briefly  what  he  is  as  an  author.  As  a  man,  he  is  not  less 
genial,  sincere,  and  agreeable  than  his  books.  The  cleverest 
authors  are,  as  a  rule,  far  more  entertaining  and  astonishing 
in  their  books  than  in  themselves.  In  themselves,  to  speak 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  453 

the  truth,  they  are  not  likely  to  be  either  entertaining  or 
astonishing.  I  should  look  to  few  of  them  as  acceptable 
hosts.  Mr.  Roe  proved  himself,  and  proved  how  good  a  host 
he  was,  on  a  recent  Saturday  afternoon,  when  some  thirty  or 
forty  members  of  the  Authors'  Club  accepted  his  invitation 
to  spend  a  day  at  his  house  and  grounds  on  the  historic  heights 
of  Cornwall. 

"Nearly  all  those  who  accepted  Mr.  Roe's  invitation  trav- 
elled to  Cornwall  by  water.  And  they  were  not  a  bad  lot, 
taking  them  together.  There  was  E.  C.  Stedman,  for  ex- 
ample, the  most  popular  writer  among  writers,  the  youngest 
man,  by  all  odds,  for  his  age — fuller  of  the  exhilaration  of 
youth  than  most  of  his  juniors  by  twenty  years;  C.  C.  Buel, 
associate  editor  of  the  'Century/  who  will  soon  marry  Miss 
Snow,  an  adopted  daughter  (if  I  am  not  mistaken)  of  'John 
Paul,'  otherwise  known  as  Mr.  Webb;  Mr.  Webb  himself, 
wearing  that  contentedly  placid  air  which  he  never  seems  to 
shake  off,  and  always  on  time  with  a  good  story  or  joke;  A.  J. 
Conant,  whose  yarns  are  famous,  and  whose  tall  form  swayed 
benignly  under  a  huge  slouch  hat;  Hamilton  W.  Mabie,  the 
youthful  and  smiling  editor  of  the  'Christian  Union' ;  W.  L. 
Keese,  one  of  the  few  men  who  can  speak  with  authority  on 
the  acting  of  Burton;  Theodore  L.  De  Vinne,  recently  re- 
turned from  Europe,  where  he  had  vast  trouble  in  keeping 
warm;  W.  H.  Bishop,  who  has  got  beyond  the  'promising' 
stage  in  novel  writing  and  who  will  spend  his  summer  in 
France ;  Henry  Harland  ('Sidney  Luska'),  as  cheerful  as  his 
stories  are  sombre — just  the  sort  of  personality  that  does  not 
repeat  itself  in  literature;  Raymond  S.  Perrin,  who  is  kind 
enough  to  save  some  of  his  friends  from  disaster  by  present- 
ing his  first  published  book — price  $5 — to  them;  W.  S. 
Walsh,  close  shaven  as  a  priest,  and  editor  of  'Lippincott's' ; 
Noah  Brooks,  once  upon  a  time  presiding  genius  of  the  Lotus 
Club,  and  the  author  of  several  charming  books  for  boys; 
Edward  Carey,  associate  editor  of  the  New  York  'Times'; 
Leonard  Kip,  Albert  Matthews,  John  H.  Boner,  R.  R.  Bow- 
ker,  and  several  representatives  of  the  'Century's'  staff. 


454  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

"When  this  crowd  of  writers — numbering  about  thirty 
in  all — reached  Mr.  Roe's  home,  they  found  Richard  Henry 
Stoddard  and  Julian  Hawthorne  installed  there.  Mr.  Stod- 
dard  may  now  be  classed  properly  among  our  Venerable' 
poets,  although  he  enjoys  excellent  health  and  gets  through 
an  immense  amount  of  work.  Hawthorne,  in  a  flannel  shirt, 
with  a  soft  red  tennis  cap  on  his  handsome  head,  was  by  far 
the  most  picturesque  figure  of  the  group.  As  to  the  host, 
Mr.  Roe,  he  is  a  man  of  somewhat  striking  presence.  He  is 
of  medium  height,  strongly  built,  with  a  gravely  pleasant  and 
intelligent  face;  his  dark  hair  is  brushed  off  a  high  forehead, 
his  beard  and  mustache  are  long  and  black;  he  has  kindly 
gray  eyes,  and  his  manner  is  that  of  a  man  who  has  spent  the 
greater  part  of  his  life  in  the  atmosphere  of  home.  To  do 
good,  to  help  others — that  appears  to  be  his  earnest  ambition. 
The  notes  of  religion  and  morality  dominate  the  note  of  liter- 
ature in  him.  In  fact,  he  is  much  less  an  author  than  a 
teacher.  Once  he  preached  from  the  church  pulpit,  now  he 
preaches  through  his  books,  and  he  finds  the  latter  method 
far  more  profitable,  at  least,  than  the  former. 

"Mr.  Roe  does  not  confine  himself,  however,  to  the  mak- 
ing of  such  books  as  please  the  great  Philistine  class.  He  is 
an  authority  on  the  cultivation  of  small  fruits  and  flowers. 
What  he  has  written  upon  this  interesting  subject  possesses 
scientific  value.  Upon  his  grounds  at  Cornwall  he  raises 
some  beautiful  specimens  of  the  rose,  and  strawberries  as 
large  and  luscious  as  any  found  in  New  Jersey  soil  during 
June.  The  day  selected  for  the  authors'  visit  to  Cornwall 
happened  to  be  at  the  height  of  the  strawberry  season,  and 
the  manner  in  which  these  usually  sedate  persons  made  their 
way  to  Mr.  Roe's  strawberry  bushes  immediately  after  greet- 
ing their  host  reminded  one  of  the  skirmishing  of  boys  in  a 
melon  patch.  The  berries,  many  of  them  with  the  circum- 
ference of  a  young  tomato,  were  dug  remorselessly  from 
their  cool  shadows,  while  a  particularly  hot  sun  poured  down 
upon  the  backs  of  thirty  perspiring  authors.  But  the  fruit 
was  worthy  of  the  effort  used  in  plucking  it,  for  Mr.  Roe  has 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  455 

brought  strawberry  culture  to  a  rare  state  of  perfection. 
His  berries,  whether  large  or  small,  have  a  singularly  sweet 
and  delicate  flavor ;  they  are  richly  colored,  and  their  meat  is 
as  firm  as  that  of  a  ripe  peach. 

"Mr.  Roe's  grounds  are  quite  spacious,  and  lie  directly 
under  the  shade  of  Storm  King.  They  are  included  in  the 
plateau  of  a  hill,  and  the  scenery  round  about — especially  in 
the  direction  of  the  Hudson — is  wonderfully  varied  and  pic- 
turesque. Mr.  Roe's  father  and  grandfather  resided  at 
Cornwall,  and  now  a  fourth  generation  of  the  family  is  iden- 
tified with  this  lovely  bit  of  country.  The  house  occupied  by 
the  novelist  is  not  the  one  built  by  his  ancestors.  It  is  a 
plain,  old-fashioned  structure,  built  as  every  similar  structure 
should  be — with  a  broad,  breezy  hall  running  from  end  to 
end,  thus  dividing  the  lower  part  of  the  house  into  two  com- 
fortable compartments.  The  various  rooms — and  there  are 
plenty  of  them — are  neatly  but  not  pretentiously  furnished, 
books  and  pictures  being  their  chief  ornaments.  On  the  top 
floor  Mr.  Roe  has  his  workshop — &  long,  narrow,  uncarpeted 
room,  under  a  slanting  roof,  well  ventilated,  and  filled  with 
lazy  lounges  and  chairs,  common  book-shelves,  a  large  writ- 
ing-desk, and  a  cabinet  containing  specimens  of  Hudson 
River  birds.  Mr.  Roe's  latest  hobby  is  to  collect  birds  and 
to  study  their  songs.  He  stuffs  the  birds  and  jots  down  in  a 
note-book  brief  comments  upon  their  songs.  He  is  endeav- 
oring, especially,  to  make  an  exact  list  of  the  time — to  the 
fraction  of  a  second — at  which  each  bird  begins  to  sing  in  the 
early  dawn.  'I  like  to  get  my  facts  from  nature/  he  said  to 
me,  'not  from  other  men's  books.' 

"Mr.  Roe  is  one  of  the  most  hospitable  of  men,  a  fact 
which  his  thirty  author-friends  would  have  discovered  if  they 
had  not  known  that  it  was  a  fact.  A  day  seldom  goes  by  that 
does  not  bring  him  a  visitor  who  receives  a  royal  welcome ;  a 
night  seldom  passes  that  does  not  find  occupants  for  his  spare 
rooms.  Whoever  takes  the  trouble  to  call  upon  him  he  is 
glad  enough  to  see.  If  his  half-million  readers  could  call 
upon  him  simultaneously  they  would  be  led  cheerfully  to  the 


456  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

strawberry  patch.  Authors  may  thrive  on  the  stones  of  a 
city  because  they  must;  but  the  ideal  home  for  an  author  is 
that  of  E.  P.  Koe  at  Cornwall. 

"GEORGE  ED«AR  MONTGOMERY." 

"It  was  on  one  of  the  most  delightful  days  of  last  month 
that  Mr.  Roe  received  in  an  informal  way  at  his  hillside 
home  his  fellow-craftsmen  of  the  Authors'  Club  of  New 
York. 

"A  rambling  old  house  placed  back  from  the  road  and 
perched  upon  one  of  the  many  hilltops  that  rise  from  the 
river  in  that  most  picturesque  section  known  as  the  High- 
lands of  the  Hudson,  Mr.  Roe's  home  had  about  it  that  air  of 
comfort  and  serenity  that  one  would  naturally  imagine  as  the 
most  appropriate  surroundings  for  the  author  of  'Nature's 
Serial  Story.' 

"Mr.  Roe  was  so  peculiarly  a  companionable  man  that  his 
friends  were  legion,  and  among  the  busy  workers  who  consti- 
tute the  Authors'  Club  none  were  more  popular  than  he — the 
busiest  worker  of  them  all. 

"He  met  us  at  the  landing,  his  genial  face  speaking  a 
welcome  even  before  his  voice  was  heard,  and  'Roe!  Roe! 
Roe !'  came  the  greeting  from  his  expectant  guests  ere  they 
filed  off  the  boat.  He  saw  that  we  were  all  comfortably  be- 
stowed in  the  numerous  carriages  that  he  had  in  waiting,  led 
the  procession  up  the  steep  road  that  climbed  the  Cornwall 
hills,  and  standing  at  the  foot  of  his  veranda  steps,  welcomed 
each  visitor  who  'lighted  down'  with  his  cheery  smile  and  his 
cordial  hand-clasp.  He  turned  us  loose  in  his  strawberry 
bed — that  pet  domain  of  one  who  had  so  practically  shown 
how  it  was  possible  to  achieve  'Success  with  Small  Fruits ;'  he 
loaded  us  with  roses — dear  also  to  one  who  lived  as  he  did 
'Near  to  Nature's  Heart ;'  and  then  with  brief  words  of  hos- 
pitality that  were  alive,  hearty  and  inspiring,  he  bade  us  make 
free  with  his  house  and  home  for  the  day.  That  we  enjoyed 
it,  every  action  testified.  Released  from  care  and  labor  for 
a  day,  surrounded  by  all  the  attractions  that  make  a  June  dajr 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  457 

among  the  Highlands  doubly  delightful,  and  made  so  cor- 
dially to  feel  ourselves  at  home,  enjoyment  was  easy,  and  the 
day  was  one  to  be  marked  with  a  red  letter  by  all  whose  good 
fortune  it  was  to  have  been  one  of  that  merry  party. 

"Mr.  Roe's  Cornwall  home  showed  the  lover  of  Nature 
and  of  his  chosen  profession.  'This  has  been  your  inspira- 
tion here,  has  it  not?'  I  asked.  'Yes,'  he  replied,  with  a 
loving  glance  at  the  quiet  country  landscape  that  we  over- 
looked from  the  broad  veranda;  'here  and  hereabout  I  have 
got  very  much  of  my  material.  I  love  it  all.' 

"The  comfortable  rooms  of  that  quaint,  old-fashioned 
house  had  many  a  touch  that  showed  the  affection  for  his  sur- 
roundings. 

"  'Well,  Roe/  said  Stedman,  ever  ready  with  his  apt  quo- 
tations, 'this  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat,'  and  he  said  truly. 
The  homelike  house,  the  thrifty  farm-lands,  the  verdant 
patches  filled  with  fruits  and  flowers,  and  the  green  growths 
of  the  kitchen  garden  bespoke  the  man  who  added  to  the  gen- 
tleman-farmer the  practical  student  of  the  helpful  products 
of  the  earth. 

"  'Down  there,'  he  said,  indicating  one  portion  of  his 
land,  'I  have  planted  twenty-five  varieties  of  peas.  I  wish 
to  test  them,  to  study  their  quality  and  discover  which  are 
the  best  for  the  producer  to  raise  and  which  have  the  best 
flavor.  I  like  to  make  these  experiments.' 

"A  bountiful  spread  for  the  sharpened  appetites  of  those 
who  found  in  that  flower-laden  air  an  increase  of  desire 
awaited  us  in  the  cool  dining  and  reception  rooms — thrown 
into  one  to  comfortably  seat  so  large  a  company — and  it  was 
a  question  who  enjoyed  it  most,  guests  or  host,  for  his  kindly 
attentions  and  his  invitation  to  eat  and  spare  not  gave  an  extra 
sauce  to  the  good  things  offered  us.  An  after-dinner  ride 
through  the  charming  country  thereabout,  so  many  sections 
of  which  had  been  written  into  his  characteristic  stories;  a 
siesta-like  reunion  beneath  the  shade  of  the  trees  that  dotted 
his  ample  lawn  and  almost  embowered  his  home;  an  oft-re- 
peated desire  that  we  should  not  go  city-ward  until  'the  last 
R— T— XV  ill 


458  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

train;'  a  quiet  chat  as  this  most  delightful  of  hosts  passed 
from  group  to  group ;  the  zest  with  which  the  pleasant-faced 
wife  and  the  son  and  daughter  of  our  host  seemed  to  enter 
into  his  and  our  enjoyment  of  the  day — these,  and  the  many 
minor  details  of  a  June  day's  outing  among  the  historic  High- 
lands that  may  not  find  expression  here,  gave  to  us  all  an  ex- 
perience that  no  one  among  us  would  have  missed,  and  which 
each  one  of  us  will  recall  with  peculiar  and  tender  memories 
now  that  the  good  man  who  made  them  possible  to  us  has 
dropped  his  unfinished  work  and  left  us  so  suddenly  and  so 
unexpectedly.  ELBRIDGE  S.  BROOKS." 

Of  the  many  tributes  to  my  brother's  memory  I  shall 
here  quote  but  two.  The  first  is  from  Julian  Hawthorne  and 
is  addressed  to  the  Editors  of  the  "Critic;"  the  second  is  the 
resolution  of  sympathy  sent  to  Mrs.  Roe  by  the  members  of 
the  Authors'  Club. 

"You  will  probably  be  asked  to  find  room  in  your  columns 
for  many  letters  from  the  friends  of  E.  P.  Roe.  I  apply  for 
admission  with  the  others,  on  the  ground  that  none  of  them 
could  have  loved  him  more  than  I  did.  The  telegram  which 
to-day  told  me  of  his  death  has  made  my  own  life  less  inter- 
esting to  me.  He  was  so  good  a  man  that  no  one  can  take  his 
place  with  those  who  knew  him.  It  is  the  simple  truth  that 
he  cared  for  his  friends  more  than  for  himself ;  that  his  great- 
est happiness  was  to  see  others  happy;  that  he  would  have 
more  rejoiced  in  the  literary  fame  of  one  of  his  friends  than 
in  any  such  fame  of  his  own  winning.  All  his  leisure  was 
spent  in  making  plans  for  the  pleasure  and  profit  of  other 
people.  I  have  seen  him  laugh  with  delight  at  the  success  of 
these  plans.  As  I  write,  so  many  generous,  sweet,  noble 
deeds  of  his  throng  in  my  memory — deeds  done  so  unobtru- 
sively, delicately  and  heartily — that  I  feel  the  uselessness  of 
trying  to  express  his  value  and  our  loss.  He  was  at  once 
manly  and  childlike :  manly  in  honor,  truth  and  tenderness ; 
childlike  in  the  simplicity  that  suspects  no  guile  and  prac- 
tices none.  He  had  in  him  that  rare  quality  of  loving  sympa- 


LAST  BOOK— DEATH  459 

thy  that  prompted  sinners  to  bring  their  confessions  to  him, 
and  ask  help  and  counsel  of  him — which  he  gave,  and  human 
love  into  the  bargain.  Among  his  million  readers,  thou- 
sands wrote  to  thank  him  for  good  that  his  books  had  awak- 
ened in  their  souls  and  stimulated  in  their  lives.  He  knew 
the  human  heart,  his  own  was  so  human  and  so  great ;  and  the 
vast  success  of  his  stories,  however  technical  critics  may  have 
questioned  it,  was  within  his  deserts,  because  it  was  based  on 
this  fact.  No  one  could  have  had  a  humbler  opinion  of 
Roe's  'art'  than  he  had:  but  an  author  who  believes  that 
good  is  stronger  than  evil,  and  that  a  sinner  may  turn  from 
his  wickedness  and  live,  and  who  embodies  these  convictions 
in  his  stories,  without  a  trace  of  cant  or  taint  of  insincerity — 
such  an  author  and  man  deserves  a  success  infinitely  wider 
and  more  permanent  than  that  of  the  skilfulest  literary  me- 
chanic :  and  it  is  to  the  credit  of  our  nation  that  he  has  it." 

Authors'  Club,  19  West  24th  Street,  New  York. 
January  19,  1889. 

MRS.  E.  P.  ROE. 

DEAR  MADAM — I  am  instructed  by  the  General  Meet- 
ing of  the  Authors'  Club  to  communicate  to  you  the  follow- 
ing minute  of  a  resolution  that  was  then  adopted.  It  runs 
as  follows: — 

"On  motion  of  Mr.  E.  C.  Stedman  it  is  unanimously  re- 
solved that  by  the  death  of  Mr.  E.  P.  Roe  this  club  has  lost 
a  member  who  was  endeared  to  his  fellow-members  by  more 
than  ordinary  ties.  His  kindly  disposition  and  charm  of  con- 
versation and  manner,  his  wide  charity,  made  him  an  always 
welcome  companion,  and  though  circumstances  did  not  admit 
of  his  frequent  attendance  at  its  meetings,  his  constant  inter- 
est in  the  club  was  evinced  by  numerous  attentions  which 
showed  that  he  was  present  in  spirit  if  not  in  person. 

"This  club  recalls  with  a  sense  of  sorrowful  satisfaction 
that  the  last  act  of  the  late  Mr.  Roe  in  connection  with  the 
club  was  the  generous  entertainment  of  its  members  by  him- 
self and  his  wife,  a  few  weeks  before  his  death,  at  his  home 


460  LAST  BOOK— DEATH 

at  Cornwall-on-the-Hudson,  an  event  which  will  ever  dwell 
in  the  grateful  remembrance  of  those  who  were  present  on 
the  occasion,  and  in  scarcely  a  less  degree  of  those  members 
who  were  unable  to  avail  themselves  of  the  privilege. 

"At  its  Annual  Meeting  this  club  desires  to  assure  Mrs. 
Roe  and  the  members  of  her  family  of  its  sincere  sympathy 
with  her  in  the  bereavement  which  she  has  sustained,  to  con- 
vey to  her  its  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  abundant  hos- 
pitality she  exercised  toward  the  club  on  the  occasion  of  its 
visit  to  her  home  last  June,  and  to  thank  her  for  her  generous 
gift  of  an  admirable  portrait  of  her  late  husband." 

I  have  the  honor  to  be,  Madam,  with  great  respect, 
Your  faithful  servant, 

A.  B.  STABET, 
Secretary  Authors'  Club. 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.   ROE'S  BOOKS  461 


CHAPTER    XIV 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.  P.  ROE^S  BOOKS 

A  FEW  more  pages  will  be  given  to  an  account  of  the 
circumstances  under  which  my  brother's  books  were 
written,  including  mention  of  some  incidents  which 
suggested  the  stories. 

His  first  novel  was  "Barriers  Burned  Away."  Speaking 
of  this  venture  he  said  at  one  time : — "I  did  not  take  up  the 
writing  of  fiction  as  a  means  of  livelihood,  nor  to  gratify  am- 
bition. When  I  heard  the  news  of  the  great  fire  in  Chicago 
I  had  a  passionate  desire  to  see  its  houseless,  homeless  con- 
dition, and  spent  several  days  among  the  ruins  and  people, 
who  found  refuge  wherever  they  could.  I  wandered  around 
night  and  day,  taking  notes  of  all  I  saw,  and  there  the  plot  of 
my  story  was  vaguely  formed." 

When  Edward  had  written  about  eight  chapters  of  this 
book,  as  has  been  said,  he  read  them  to  Dr.  Field  and  his  as- 
sociate editor,  Mr.  J.  H.  Dey.  He  would  not  have  been 
greatly  surprised  had  they  advised  his  throwing  the  manu- 
script into  the  burning  grate  before  them,  but,  instead,  they 
requested  him  to  leave  it  with  them  for  serial  publication  in 
the  "Evangelist." 

In  the  intervals  of  his  busy  life  at  Highland  Falls  the 
story  grew  into  fifty-two  chapters.  He  wrote  when  and 
where  he  could — on  steamboats  and  trains  as  well  as  in  his 
study — the  manuscript  often  being  only  a  few  pages  ahead 
of  its  publication.  His  characters  took  full  possession  of  his 
imagination  and  were  very  real  to  him. 

The  serial  continued  for  a  year.  The  next  thing  was  to 
secure  a  publisher  for  the  book.  Mr.  Dodd,  senior  member 


462  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.   ROE'S  BOOKS 

of  the  firm  of  Dodd,  Mead,  and  Company,  said  once  when 
questioned  in  reference  to  this  subject: — "Mr.  Roe  brought 
his  manuscript  to  us  one  day.  We  read  it  and  made  him  an 
offer.  At  that  time  we  looked  upon  the  venture  as  purely 
experimental.  Mr.  Roe  accepted  our  offer,  and  we  announced 
the  book.  In  a  short  time  letters  began  to  pour  in  upon  us 
from  people  who  had  seen  our  announcement,  and  had  also 
read  as  much  of  the  story  as  had  appeared  in  the  'Evange- 
list,' asking  when  the  book  would  be  published.  These  let- 
ters were  the  first  indication  we  had  of  the  story's  popularity, 
but  they  were  very  good  evidence  of  it.  An  edition  was  is- 
sued ;  the  book  sold  rapidly,  and  the  sale  since  has  been  large 
and  continuous." 

"How  about  your  original  contract  with  Mr.  Roe  ?" 

"Well,  as  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  "the  original 
contract  was  destroyed  and  another  made  on  a  different  basis 
by  which  Mr.  Roe  is  largely  the  gainer.  From  that  time  we 
have  published  everything  that  he  has  written,  and  our  rela- 
tions have  always  been  very  pleasant  and  close." 

"What  is  his  most  popular  work  ?" 

"  'Barriers  Burned  Away3  has  had  the  largest  sale.  'With- 
out a  Home'  stands  second  on  the  list,  and,  considering  the 
fact  that  it  was  published  ten  years  later,  is  most  popular. 
'Opening  a  Chestnut  Burr*  comes  next;  'Near  to  Nature's 
Heart'  has  had  a  very  large  sale,  and  the  others  follow  closely. 
There  is  not  one  of  his  novels  that  has  not  had  a  wide  cir- 
culation." 

"Have  you  any  idea  of  the  extent  to  which  his  books  have 
been  sold  abroad?" 

"All  have  been  published  in  England  and  the  colonies. 
Mr.  Roe  has  in  almost  every  instance  arranged  with  English 
publishers  for  an  authorized  edition  from  advance  sheets,  and 
received  compensation.  His  stories  are  also  translated  into 
German  and  French." 

"Barriers"  was  first  published  in  1872.  It  is  reverently 
dedicated  to  the  memory  of  the  author's  mother,  and  his  own 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.   ROE'S  BOOKS  463 

words  as  to  how  it  came  to  be  written  have  already  been 
quoted.  Many  letters  were  received  from  young  men  ac- 
knowledging the  helpfulness  of  this  book. 

"Play  and  Profit  in  My  Garden"  was  Edward's  first  book 
on  horticulture.  It  was  written  in  1873  at  Highland  Falls, 
and  was  published  serially  in  the  "Christian  Union,"  then 
edited  by  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott.  Reviewing  the  book  just  two 
years  before  his  death,  he  claimed  that  he  put  into  it  more  of 
his  personality  than  into  any  of  his  other  works. 

It  is  a  garden  story  of  his  own  experience.  The  sandy 
knoll  around  the  little  country  parsonage,  upon  which  grew 
only  a  vine  or  two,  a  few  cherry  trees  and  some  common  cur- 
rant bushes,  served  as  a  beginning  in  this  gardening  venture. 
To  that  was  added  a  small  tract  of  adjoining  land  which  was 
rented  from  a  neighbor,  making  but  two  acres  in  all,  yet  the 
profits  from  this  ground  for  one  season  alone  amounted  to 
two  thousand  dollars. 

In  this  book  he  tells  how  his  garden  was  stocked  at  first 
with  plants  from  the  old  home  place,  and  how  they  brought 
back  the  sweet  associations  of  his  childhood.  He  speaks,  too, 
of  his  pleasure  in  selecting  new  varieties  for  trial  from  the 
gorgeously  illustrated  catalogues  that  he  received. 

"What  Can  She  Do  ?"  was  written  the  same  year.  Sfnce 
that  time  numberless  women  have  learned  through  the  for- 
tunes or  misfortunes  of  life  to  solve  this  problem  for  them- 
selves, but  this  book  has  found  a  place  in  many  homes  and  by 
its  influence  has  led  young  girls  to  be  more  helpful  in  the 
family  circle  as  well  as  in  the  wider  social  spheres  in  which 
they  move. 

"Opening  a  Chestnut  Burr"  (1874)  suggested  itself 
to  Edward's  mind  while  taking  a  walk  one  autumn  along  a 
wood-road  on  the  grounds  of  the  old  homestead.  Several  of 
the  characters  are  drawn  from  life,  representing  some  eccen- 
tric people  who  lived  near  us  in  our  childhood.  In  a 
"well-meanin'  "  man,  "Daddy  Inggar,"  we  have  a  perfect 
picture  of  an  old  neighbor  whom  we  children  called  "Daddy 
Liscomb."  He  lived  in  a  little  house  opposite  one  of  our 


464  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.  ROE'S  BOOKS 

father's  apple  orchards,  and  no  watch-dog  could  have  been 
more  faithful  than  was  this  old  man  in  guarding  our  fruit 
from  the  depredations  of  factory  boys.  He  was  very  pro- 
fane, more  in  his  last  years  from  habit,  however,  than  from 
intentional  irreverence,  and  sometimes  when  the  Methodist 
clergyman  was  offering  prayer  in  his  home  a  sudden  twinge 
of  rheumatism  would  call  forth  a  perfect  volley  of  oaths,  for 
which  he  would  immediately  afterward  make  most  humble 
apologies.  This  book  Edward  dedicated  to  his  wife. 

"From  Jest  to  Earnest"  (1875)  is  dedicated  to  Edward's 
schoolmate  and  college  friend,  Rev.  A.  Moss  Merwin.  The 
story  is  nearly  altogether  imaginary,  but  was  suggested  by 
an  actual  house-party  and  the  position  of  a  clever  hostess  who 
was  embarrassed  by  the  necessity  for  making  the  best  of  an 
unwelcome  guest. 

"Near  to  Nature's  Heart"  was  written  at  Cornwall  and 
published  in  1876 — the  Centennial  year.  It  is  a  Revolu- 
tionary story,  and  the  scene  is  laid  near  West  Point.  "Cap- 
tain Molly"  is  of  course  historical,  as  is  also  the  Robin  Hood 
of  the  Highlands,  "Claudius  Smith."  But  most  of  the  inci- 
dents of  the  story,  as  well  as  the  leading  characters,  are 
imaginary. 

A  few  years  ago  I  met  at  a  seashore  resort  in  Massachu- 
setts a  cultured  gentleman  who  held  a  high  position  in  an 
educational  institution  in  that  State.  He  told  me  that  his 
only  child,  Vera,  was  named  from  the  heroine  of  "Near  to 
Nature's  Heart."  He  had  read  all  of  my  brother's  books, 
but  particularly  enjoyed  this  one.  And  while  in  California 
making  a  trip  to  some  of  the  high  mountain  passes  of  the 
State  I  met  a  young  couple  living  in  a  lonely  canyon,  miles 
from  any  town,  whose  year-old  baby  was  called  Amy,  in 
honor,  they  said,  of  the  heroine  of  "Nature's  Serial  Story." 
They  had  no  knowledge  of  my  relationship  to  the  author  of 
the  book. 

"A  Knight  of  the  Nineteenth  Century"  (1877)  was  rever- 
ently dedicated  to  the  memory  of  the  writer's  father.  These 
lines  form  the  preface : — 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.   ROE'S  BOOKS  4G5 

"He  best  deserves  a  knightly  crest 
Who  slays  the  evils  that  infest 
His  soul  within.     If  victor  here, 
He  soon  will  find  a  wider  sphere. 
The  world  is  cold  to  him  who  pleads; 
The  world  bows  low  to  knightly  deeds." 

Soon  after  this  book  was  offered  for  sale  upon  the  railroad 
trains,  a  young  man,  who  had  tired  of  the  humdrum,  duties 
of  his  home,  started  West  to  seek  adventure  in  the  excite- 
ments of  mining  life.  He  bought  a  copy,  read  it,  and  was 
so  impressed  by  the  writer's  picture  of  true  knightly  deeds 
that  he  abandoned  his  purpose  and  returned  to  take  up  the 
obligations  he  had  cast  aside. 

"A  Face  Illumined"  (1878).  A  beautiful,  but  discor- 
dant, face  once  seen  at  a  concert-garden  suggested  the  title 
and  plot  of  this  book.  It  interested  Edward  to  imagine  what 
such  a  countenance  could  express  under  the  ennobling  influ- 
ence of  a  pure  Christian  life.  He  says  in  his  preface : — "The 
old  garden  and  the  aged  man  who  grew  young  in  it  are  not 
creations,  but  sacred  memories."  It  was  our  father  who  was 
constantly  in  the  writer's  mind  as  he  rehearsed  the  conversa- 
tions with  Mr.  Eltinge,  and  the  enormous  silver  poplar  that 
shaded  the  old  man's  front  gate,  the  tool-house  and  pear  tree, 
and  the  brook  in  which  "Ida  Mayhew"  bathed  her  tear- 
stained  face,  were  all  drawn  from  originals. 

"Without  a  Home"  (1881).  This  book  was  announced 
two  years  before  it  was  completed,  for  my  brother  studied 
with  great  care  and  patience  the  problems  upon  which  it 
touches.  He  visited  scores  of  tenements  and  station-houses, 
and  sat  day  after  day  upon  the  bench  with  police  judges.  He 
also  talked  with  many  of  the  proprietors  of  city  stores  and 
with  their  employees,  and  his  indignation  was  aroused  when 
he  found  that  in  most  of  these  establishments  saleswomen 
were  compelled  to  stand  throughout  the  hot  summer  days,  no 
provision  being  made  for  even  an  occasional  rest.  In  regard 
to  the  victim  of  the  opium  habit  in  this  story,  he  said  once, 
"I  felt  from  the  first  that  Mr.  Joselyn  was  going  to  ruin  and 


466  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.   ROE'S  BOOKS 

I  could  not  stop  him,  and  suffered  much  with  him.  1  also 
felt  the  death  of  his  daughter  almost  as  much  as  if  she  had 
been  a  member  of  my  own  family." 

"Success  with  Small  Fruits"  (1881).  "Dedicated  to 
Mr.  Charles  Downing,  a  neighbor,  friend,  and  horticulturist 
from  whom  I  shall  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  learn  in  coming 
years,  as  I  have  in  the  past."  Chapters  from  this  book,  ap- 
propriately illustrated,  first  appeared  serially  in  "Scribner's 
Magazine."  But  the  larger  scope  which  the  book  afforded 
gave  Edward  opportunity  to  treat  the  various  topics  more  in 
detail.  He  gives  many  practical  suggestions  for  the  benefit 
of  those  who  are  interested  in  this  subject.  Nevertheless, 
the  book  is  not  a  mere  manual  upon  the  culture  of  small 
fruits.  It  is  happily  written,  and  much  quiet  humor  is  to  be 
found  in  its  pages.  To  quote  a  brief  example: — "In  April 
the  bees  will  prove  to  you  that  honey  may  be  gathered  even 
from  a  gooseberry  bush.  Indeed,  gooseberries  are  like  some 
ladies  that  we  all  know.  In  their  young  and  blossoming  days 
they  are  sweet  and  pink-hued,  and  then  they  grow  acid,  pale, 
and  hard;  but  in  the  ripening  experience  of  later  life  they 
become  sweet  again.  Before  they  drop  from  their  places  the 
bees  come  back  for  honey,  and  find  it." 

Whatever  may  be  the  opinion  of  critics  in  regard  to  my 
brother's  fiction,  his  works  on  horticulture  are  of  unques- 
tioned authority ;  they  embody  the  results  of  carefully  tested 
personal  experiments,  and  for  this  reason  have  their  value. 
In  this  book  are  given  practical  directions  and  advice  that 
gardeners  have  told  me  were  of  immense  service  to  them. 

"A  Day  of  Fate"  (1880).  This  is  a  quiet  love-story  of  a 
summer  sojourn  in  the  Highlands. 

"His  Sombre  Rivals:  A  Story  of  the  Civil  War"  (1883). 
In  the  preface  he  says:  "The  stern  and  prolonged  conflict 
taught  mutual  respect.  The  men  of  the  North  were  con- 
vinced that  they  fought  Americans,  and  that  the  people  on 
both  sides  were  sincere  and  honest." 

The  Battle  of  Bull  Run  is  simply  a  suggested  picture, 
and  the  other  war  scenes  are  colored  by  the  writer's  own 


AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P,   ROE'S  BOOKS  467 

reminiscences;  but  concerning  all  technical  details  he  con- 
sulted military  men. 

"A  Young  Girl's  Wooing"  (1884).  Another  short  love- 
story,  with  the  scene  laid  in  the  Catskills,  where  it  was 
written. 

"Nature's  Serial  Story"  was  also  published  in  1884,  but 
Edward  had  been  for  several  years  making  studies  for  it,  at 
each  season  carefully  noting  his  observations.  He  was  a 
great  lover  of  birds  and  knew  exactly  when  each  species  ar- 
rived North  in  the  spring  and  just  when  the  fall  migrations 
took  place.  "Song,"  he  says  elsewhere,  "is  the  first  crop  I 
obtain,  and  one  of  the  best.  The  robins  know  I  am  a  friend 
of  theirs,  in  spite  of  their  taste  for  early  strawberries  and 
cherries,  and  when  I  am  at  work  they  are  very  sociable  and 
familiar.  One  or  two  will  light  on  raspberry  stakes  and  sing 
and  twitter  almost  as  incessantly  and  intelligently  as  the  chil- 
dren in  their  playhouse  under  the  great  oak  tree.  Yet  the 
robin's  first  mellow  whistle  in  spring  is  a  clarion  call  to  duty, 
the  opening  note  of  the  campaign." 

He  drew  directly  from  Nature  for  facts,  and  the  compo- 
sition of  this  book  gave  him  genuine  pleasure.  He  says :  "My 
characters  may  seem  shadows  to  others,  but  they  were  real 
to  me.  I  meet  them  still  in  my  walks  or  drives,  where  in 
fancy  I  placed  them." 

"An  Original  Belle"  (1885).  The  most  dramatic  scenes 
in  this  book  are  those  connected  with  the  New  York  Draft 
Riots.  Edward  was  in  the  city  one  day  when  the  riot  had 
reached  its  height,  and  personally  witnessed  many  of  the  in- 
cidents described.  Portions  of  the  book  relating  to  this  time 
were  submitted  to  the  Superintendent  of  the  Metropolitan 
police  force  for  possible  corrections  in  the  statements  made. 

"Driven  Back  to  Eden."  This  story  for  children  was 
published  serially  in  "St.  Nicholas,"  in  1885.  It  was  lov- 
ingly dedicated  to  "Johnnie,"  his  pet  name  for  his  youngest 
daughter.  In  it  my  brother  takes  a  family  from  a  narrow 
city  flat  in  a  neighborhood  that  was  respectable,  but  densely 
populated,  and  where  the  children  were  forced  to  spend  much 


468  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  E.   P.   ROE'S  BOOKS 

time  upon  the  streets  with  very  undesirable  companions,  to 
a  simple  country  home,  surrounded  by  garden,  fields,  and 
woods.  Here  they  enjoy  the  ideal  outdoor  life — perhaps  as 
near  that  of  the  original  "Eden"  as  can  be  imagined.  Ed- 
ward places  these  children  among  the  scenes  of  his  own  boy- 
hood and  writes  of  experiences  that  are  fictitious  only  in 
detail  and  characters. 

"He  Fell  in  Love  with  His  Wife"  (1886).  A  chance 
item  in  a  newspaper  relative  to  a  man  who  had  married  in 
order  to  secure  a  competent  housekeeper  suggested  this  story, 
in  which  the  hero  tries  a  similar  experiment. 

"The  Home  Acre"  (1887)  first  appeared  serially  in 
"Harper's  Magazine."  It  dwells  upon  the  advantages  and 
pleasures  of  country  life,  which  is  particularly  recommended 
for  business  men  as  affording  rest  and  diversion  of  thought 
after  continuous  mental  strain.  Practical  hints  are  given 
as  to  the  kind  of  trees  to  plant  and  how  to  plant  them,  also 
as  to  the  proper  cultivation  of  vineyards,  orchards  and  the 
small  fruits.  He  urges  the  advisability  of  teaching  every 
boy  and  girl  in  the  public  schools  to  recognize  and  protect 
certain  insects,  toads,  and  harmless  snakes  that  are  of  incal- 
culable value  in  the  culture  of  plants  and  fruits  because  of 
the  warfare  they  wage  against  the  enemies  of  vegetable  life. 

"The  Earth  Trembled"  (1887)  was  written  while  at 
Santa  Barbara ;  but,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Chicago  fire,  Edward 
went  to  Charleston  before  the  effects  of  the  earthquake  had 
been  removed,  and  saw  the  state  of  the  city  and  its  inhab- 
itants for  himself.  I  have  been  told  by  people  who  lived 
there  at  the  time  that  my  brother's  descriptions  of  the  dread- 
ful calamity  are  very  accurate. 

"Miss  Lou"  (1888)  was  my  brother's  last  book,  and  was 
left  unfinished  by  his  sudden  death.  The  inscription  reads : 
-"In  loving  dedication  to  'little  Miss  Lou,'  my  youngest 
daughter." 


THE   TABLET  AND    MEMORIAL   ADDRESS  469 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE    TABLET    AND    MEMORIAL    ADDEESS 

ON  May  30th,  Decoration  Day  of  1894,  Edward's  fam- 
ily and  many  of  his  friends  were  invited  by  the 
citizens  of  Cornwall-on-the-Hudson  to  be  present  at 
the  dedication  of  a  Memorial  Park  to  be  known  as  Roe  Park, 
a  wild  spot  in  the  rear  of  his  home  where  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  go  for  recreation  when  his  day's  task  was  done. 

Here  a  bronze  tablet  was  placed  upon  one  of  the  huge 
bowlders  upon  which  he  and  his  friends  had  often  sat  and 
rested  after  their  long  rambles. 

Two  of  his  friends,  who  then  came  from  a  distance  to 
honor  his  memory,  have  since  joined  him  in  the  higher  man- 
sions— Rev.  Dr.  Teal,  of  Elizabeth,  New  Jersey,  who  began 
his  ministry  at  Cornwall,  and  was  for  twenty  years  my 
brother's  intimate  friend;  and  Mr.  Hamilton  Gibson.  Both 
of  these  men  were  stricken  down  suddenly,  as  was  my 
brother. 

I  cannot  close  these  reminiscences  better  than  by  quoting 
from  Dr.  Lyman  Abbott's  eloquent  Memorial  Address,  given 
that  day  upon  my  brother's  work  as  a  writer. 

"It  is  of  the  latter  aspect  of  his  life  I  wish  to  speak  for  a 
few  moments  only,  in  an  endeavor  to  interpret  his  service  to 
the  great  American  people  by  his  pen  through  literature. 
The  chief  function  of  the  imagination  is  to  enable  us  to  real- 
ize actual  scenes  with  which  we  are  not  familiar.  This  is  an 


470 

important  service.  It  is  well  that  you  who  live  in  these  quiet 
and  peaceful  scenes  should  know  what  is  the  wretchedness  of 
some  of  your  fellow-beings  in  the  slums  of  New  York.  It  is 
well  that  your  sympathies  should  be  broadened  and  deepened, 
and  that  you  should  know  the  sorrow,  the  struggle  that  goes 
on  in  those  less  favored  homes.  But  this  is  not  the  only 
function  of  the  imagination,  nor  its  highest  nor  most  impor- 
tant function.  It  gives  us  enjoyment  by  taking  us  on  its 
wings  and  flying  with  us  away  from  lives  which  otherwise 
would  be  prosaic,  dull,  commonplace,  lives  of  dull  routine 
and  drudgery.  But  this  also  is  not  the  only  nor  the  highest 
use;  God  has  given  us  imagination  in  order  that  we  may 
have  noble  ideals  set  before  us,  and  yet  ideals  so  linked  to 
actual  life  that  they  shall  become  inseparable.  He  has  given 
us  imagination  that  we  may  see  what  we  may  hope  for,  what 
we  may  endeavor  to  achieve — that  we  may  be  imbued  with  a 
nobler  inspiration,  a  higher  hope,  and  a  more  loving,  endur- 
ing patience  and  perseverance.  Realism,  which  uses  imagi- 
nation only  to  depict  the  actual,  is  not  the  highest  form  of 
fiction.  Romanticism,  which  uses  the  imagination  only  to  de- 
pict what  is  for  us  the  unreal  and  impossible,  is  not  the 
highest  form  of  fiction.  That  fiction  is  the  highest  which  by 
the  imagination  makes  real  to  our  thought  the  common  affairs 
of  life,  and  yet  so  blends  them  with  noble  ideals  that  we  are 
able  to  go  back  into  life  with  a  larger,  a  nobler,  and  a  more 
perfect  faith. 

"Now,  Mr.  Roe's  fiction  has  been  very  severely  criticised, 
but  it  has  been  universally  read.  For  myself  I  would  rather 
minister  to  the  higher  life  of  ten  thousand  people  than  win 
the  plaudits  of  one  self-appointed  critic.  And  his  novels 
have  been  universally  read  because  they  have  uniformly  min- 
istered to  the  higher  life  of  the  readers.  He  has  ministered 
to  the  life  not  of  ten  thousand,  or  of  one  hundred  thousand, 
but  of  thousands  of  thousands,  for  his  readers  in  this  coun- 
try alone  are  numbered  by  the  millions.  And  I  venture  to 
say  that  no  man,  woman,  or  child  ever  read  through  one  of 
Mr.  Roe's  books  and  arose  without  being  bettered  by  the  read- 


THE   TABLET  AND  MEMORIAL   ADDRESS          471 

ing,  without  having  a  clearer  faith,  a  brighter  hope,  and  a 
deeper  and  richer  love  for  his  fellow-man.  In  one  sense  he 
was  a  realist.  He  made  careful  and  painstaking  study  of  all 
the  events  which  he  attempted  to  describe.  .  .  .  He  was  not 
a  mere  photographer.  He  saw  the  grandeur  that  there  is 
in  life.  He  felt  the  heart  that  beats  in  a  woman's  bosom  and 
the  heart  that  beats  in  a  soldier's  breast.  He  felt  it  because 
his  own  heart  had  known  the  purity  of  womanhood  and  the 
courage  of  manhood.  He  portrayed  something  of  that  purity, 
something  of  that  courage,  something  of  that  divine  man- 
hood, because  he  possessed  the  qualities  that  made  him  a  hero 
on  the  battlefield,  and  so  made  him  a  preacher  of  heroism  in 
human  life.  This  is  the  man  we  have  come  here  to  honor 
to-day;  the  man  who  by  his  imagination  linked  the  real  and 
the  ideal  together;  the  man  who  has  enabled  thousands  of 
men  and  women  of  more  prosaic  nature  than  himself  to  see 
the  beauty  and  the  truth — in  one  word,  the  divinity — that 
there  is  in  human  life. 

"It  is  fitting  that  you  should  have  chosen  a  rural  scene 
like  this  as  a  monument  to  his  name ;  for  he  may  be  described 
by  the  title  of  one  of  his  books,  as  the  one  who  lived  near  to 
nature's  heart.  He  loved  these  rocks,  these  hills.  It  is 
fitting  that  you  should  have  left  these  woods  as  nature  made 
them.  He  cared  more  for  the  wild  bird  of  the  grove  than 
for  the  caged  bird  of  the  parlor,  more  for  the  wild  flowers  than 
for  those  of  the  greenhouse,  more  for  nature  wild  and  rugged 
than  for  nature  clean  and  shaven  and  dressed  in  the  latest 
fashion  of  the  landscape  gardener. 

"It  is  gratifying  to  see  so  many  of  all  ages,  of  all  sects, 
of  all  classes  in  this  community  gather  to  do  honor  to  the 
memory  of  Mr.  Roe.  But  we,  many  as  we  are,  are  not  all 
who  are  truly  here.  We  stand  as  the  representatives  of  the 
many  thousands  in  this  country  whose  hours  he  has  beguiled, 
whose  labors  he  has  lightened,  whose  lives  he  has  inspired,  and 
in  his  name  and  in  theirs  we  dedicate  to  the  memory  of  Mr. 
Roe  these  rocks  and  trees  and  this  rugged  park  and  this  me-  It 
morial  tablet  now  unveiled.  Time  with  its  busy  hand  will 


472  THE   TABLET  AND  MEMORIAL   ADDRESS 

by  and  by  obscure  the  writing ;  time  will  by  and  by  fell  these 
trees  and  gnaw  away  these  rocks.  Time  may  even  obliterate 
the  name  of  E.  P.  Roe  from  the  memory  of  men;  but  not 
eternity  itself  shall  obliterate  from  the  kingdom  of  God  the 
inspiration  to  the  higher,  nobler  and  diviner  life  which  he — 
preacher,  writer,  soldier,  pastor  and  citizen — has  left  in  hu- 
man life." 


THE  END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


III 


A    000040110    9 


